Here we are at 13 thousand feet and we have just finished the fifth day of our trek.  Surrounded by giants we can unload our backs and unload our hearts.  We have no noise of the rushing cars and cares of the city up here in the cold clear air.  All that we have here are is the sound of the river and the fog that is slowly wrapping its self around us.  If we could see it the glow of the sun on the mountains slowly fades from its brilliant white through the warm colours to end in a purple magenta barely being sliced only by the highest rocks.

The mountains usually are the last thing in the valley to go to bed but tonight our camp is still ringing with the sound of clinking pots, ringing bells and ripping sound as people unzip their tents on their way to dinner.  Such sounds have been our symphony accompanying us through the whole trek.  It is a very nice distraction from the yelling and honking horns of India.  Here we sit with ourselves and the mountains, maybe the occasional pack animal that decided the grass is better right in between our tents.  Dinner with the mountains always tastes fantastic. Maybe because the food is just better, maybe it is the company, maybe it is the thin air.  Most likely though it is that we are all hungry after a long day of hiking.  When we finish eating the world is dark, all of the dzo and the horses have gone to bed.  It becomes just us our light and the ever inspiring presence of the mountains reaching up to catch the stars.  Laughing the stars just tumble and scatter out of the way of the massive peaks.  Ever the same this game of tag is played all throughout the night without interruption.  Our tents however look like the stars that have been caught.  Glowing beacons in the otherwise dark night, lanterns guiding us to our beds.

Early in the morning these gentle giants bend down with glowing faces to greet us.  White snowy peaks with grey stone beards the constant presence all around us.  With frost on our boots we climb out of our warm cocoon to see the first rays of the sun light fire to the world.

The snow reflects the light and we bask in the rosy glow of the morning.  Breath stolen away by their majesty we walk to breakfast rubbing sleep out of our eyes and the frost out of our bones. As we eat breakfast the day fully blooms right around us.  The world warms and brings activity and energy to all around.  We pack up our things and head off along the small stream towards the next night spent with the kindly keepers of the valley.

Rato Walking Club

Dharamsala Walking Club

From our hotel at the top of the hill we would walk around a loop, sometimes stopping at a local monastery to circumambulate the prayer hall or wander through soccer fields and backyards. We were always exploring new places and finding ourselves in new areas of town. We’d walk our usual loop but because it was quite short we would often add other loops and explore other paths. One morning we found ourselves lost in a field full of prayer flags and other times we would do our best to keep clear of stray dogs and loitering high school students. On days we wanted to go on a longer walk we would walk up the hill to a different monastery and spin the numerous prayer wheels before heading back down towards home.

Depending on the time of day we would sometimes find ourselves and the valley below covered in fog which we fondly named the Gangtok Fog Monster. The Fog Monster would fill the valley in the morning and would begin to disappear as we made our way back to the hotel, revealing the city in the hills below. One morning the Fog Monster was particularly large and reduced our visibility significantly but allowed for one of the best jumping photos of the year as we sliced through the Fog Monster.

The best jumping photo ever…

On our final morning of Walking Club we awoke to a downfall and contemplated going out but decided in the end to brave the weather. It was raining harder than it had during our time in Gangtok and after completing our single loop we were all completely soaked so we ended our walk early and headed back to the hotel for hot tea and breakfast.

Walking Club was a great time to relax and forget about school work for an hour or two. We also thought it would help us prepare for our Himalayan trek but walking around at 5,000 ft is a little different than 16,000 ft although it was nice to break in our hiking boots and test out new rain gear.

Annin

We only spent a few days in Darjeeling but were able to get a little taste of the city. The city of Darjeeling reminded me a little of McLeod Ganj since it was a little city in the mountains. At the same time, Darjeeling was nothing like Dharamsala; it was much less developed, busy, and was predominately Nepalese. Coming from Salt Lake City, being among the mountains again was a nice break from the chaos of the bigger cities of India. Darjeeling was a lot quieter and much cooler in temperature than other parts of India.

During our stay in Darjeeling, we were lucky to be able to visit the Padmaja Naidu Himalayan Zoological park, which housed probably one of the cutest animals ever. The red panda. The red panda is a small arboreal mammal that is native to the eastern Himalayas and southeastern China. So while the red panda mainly eats bamboo like the giant panda, I think red pandas are much cooler and cuter than those silly white and black chubby guys.

Selina

I learned a lot about Indian Ultimate at the tournament. It is still a very new sport in India and the skill level is not quite what it is in America, but Indian teams more than make up for it in spirit. Spirit of the game is very a key concept in Ultimate – having fun is more important than winning, and I’m proud to say that Dishqiya won the spirit award for the whole tournament. After every game, we would form a big circle and elect an MVP from the other team, and then put a lungi (the traditional Indian male skirt) on them and ask them to dance.

The Fly Baba tournament started in 1999 with just 5 teams attending. 13 years later, it is the biggest tournament in India with a full 20 teams of all skill levels. Hyderabad ultimate brought two teams to play, one of more experienced players and the other with newer players who had never played in a tournament. I played with the less experienced team and helped them get familiar with the more advanced concepts of the game. I have played with the University of Puget Sound team for two years, and while I wasn’t playing at the level I am used to, it was very rewarding to help newer players and watch them grow over the course of the tournament. I am very thankful that I was able to play with Dishqiya and make many new friends.

Signing off from India…

A view of the lake in Kodaikanal

Here I am, playing for Dishqiya in purple

Dishqiya circling up at one of the final games

Allen

As fate would have it, our overnight train tickets to Goa had been waitlisted for a month, and as the date rapidly approached we still had not been confirmed for seats. We decided the best course of action would be to rent a van and a driver and take the 12-hour trip to Goa by car. Our hostel arranged everything, and as we brought our bags out to set out on our trip, we were dismayed to see not a van, but a small 5-seater car waiting for us. We were a bit uneasy, but the driver tied three of our four huge backpacks to the roof and we piled in. The following 12 hours were possibly the most stressful of my life.

We began our journey by driving through the slums of Mumbai, characterized by foul smells and slow traffic. We were excited to leave the city, however, once our driver was free of the heavy traffic of Mumbai, he decided to weave in and out of cars and bikes liberally, switching gears at rapid pace and making us all a little bit nervous. After three hours of mildly unnerving driving we stopped to get gas and use the restroom. Three of us returned to the car, and he began to pull away as Veronica grabbed for the door. We had to yell at him to make him stop, and we were all a bit peeved. I spent the next several hours in the front seat since, while there was space to move from side to side, there was no legroom, and I had the shortest legs. I was thus given a front row seat to the crazy driving that ensued. If, like me, you are unaware what the drive from Mumbai to Goa is like, it involves going up and down large hills (maybe mountains? I wasn’t sure) which involves many switchbacks turns. Our driver proceeded to take these turns at breakneck speeds, switching sides of the road and aggressively passing any and all other vehicles. We were getting a bit scared, and then thankfully we stopped for lunch.

We had a very uninteresting meal in a room that was thankfully air-conditioned (the car had A/C, but we only attempted it once to sad results). Our driver sat across the room and halfway through our meal he sent his leftovers over. We were a bit confused, but figured he was being nice. What actually happened was he had had his meal charged to us. Very nice indeed. We made a mental note to deduct his meal from the overall fare and hopped back into the car. The driving continued at the same speed, still weaving in and out of cars and taking turns marked for 20 km/hr at around 80. We asked a few times to slow down, telling the driver some of us were sick, but to no avail. As we neared our destination, we turned a corner and all of a sudden the road was unfinished. We proceeded to speed over unpaved roads off and on for the next hour, all the while being jerked from side to side. Luckily this was on the tail end of the journey, and within hours we saw signs for our destination. Unfortunately, this wasn’t quite the end. Like most taxi drivers in India, our driver preferred to pull over and ask people for directions rather than using his phone to call our hostel. He asked at least five different people where we were headed, all the while we continued to tell him we had the number of the hostel, which was small and likely unknown to anyone who didn’t live close by. Finally he gave in and called, and we pulled up safe and sound to the guesthouse. After a brief argument over how much we actually owed him (additional tolls and meals had upset the balance) he drove off to make the return drive to Mumbai.

I’m happy to say that the rest of our stay in Goa was relatively uneventful, and I’m still amazed that we made it there intact, and that the bags stayed tied to the roof. We had a great time hanging out on the beach and eating non-Indian food. We even had real hamburgers! Overall, it was a fun week, and while the trip down was far from fun, it is a story I’ll be telling for quite a while.

Jessica

***

It was an eye-opening experience. For our spring break, Grace and I spent a week volunteering and teaching English and math to 30-50 children (the number of students varied depending on the time of day or day of the week) who live in one of the slums of India and cannot afford a more proper education. The week consisted of five of the most exhausting and challenging days I have had on Pac Rim. Teaching proved to be incredibly frustrating, challenging my patience and resolve, but was also extremely rewarding.

It should be noted that the “school” we volunteered at is unlike any I have ever attended or witnessed. Three dusty mats lay over the long cement platform. The roof is made up of layered metal sheets and while three sides of the building are constructed of brick, the fourth side is open and exposed to hot sun and dust. Flies hover over the children, constantly landing on their faces and feet. There are three chalk boards built into the walls but there are large gashes on and around them. The walls of the school were painted less than a year ago but today the paint is peeling or covered by old political posters. Needless to say, these are not ideal conditions for anyone to learn in and yet every day dozens of children show up to sit with their legs crossed in two neat rows to learn.

I spent the week teaching a group of 10-20 children –mostly girls– grammar. Teaching a foreign language to students who don’t understand that language was a huge obstacle. I found that though many students had written English sentences in their notebooks, they did not understand what the sentence meant. Many of these children could neither read, nor write the English that had obviously been taught to them by other foreign volunteers. I was under the impression that many students had been taught the same thing over and over again because the volunteers who show up for different amounts of time always start from the beginning with them: my name is…my favorite fruit is…I am a good boy/girl…these were the sentences that filled each child’s notebook.

I also learned that though these students could all tell me “I like to mango” (a favorite and grammatically incorrect phrase)  or “I am good boy” if I asked them what else they liked, or what their favorite foods are, they could never tell me their own answers and instead used the same one or two sentences they had learned. This paved the way for a week’s worth of grammar lessons and my personal goal to try to get some creative juices flowing. I spent one day teaching the sentence patterns “I like …” and “My favorite…” and by the end of the day some of the girls were yelling out suggestions for sentences rather than me writing down my own sentences to be copied. On the last day I had the kids write acrostic poems – they didn’t quite understand or have the vocabulary for adjectives but they knew at least a few words that started with different letters in their names and were thus able to write their very own acrostic poems and decorate them with crayons and construction paper that we bought for the kids to use.

***

After an exhausting and revealing five days, Grace and I prepared to say a sad goodbye to all the children we had become so close to in such a short period of time. However some of the children had other plans for us, and thus we found ourselves standing in front of the home of one of our students – a home located in the heart of the slum behind the school.

The young girl unlocked the door and jumped a few feet through the opening into a small cement room with low ceilings. She excitedly waved us in saying, diiiii (didi is Hindi for older sister) come! Come! Following her command I ducked under the low door and into the dark, cold room. Myself, Grace (who had been pulled by the hand to the same home), and about eight other children now all stood in the first room of the two-room home. The children, excited to have guests, promptly poured us two glasses of water and screamed to one another to get bananas. We were handed bananas and then told by another child to look at this or that object within the home.

After a little while Grace and I told the children that we needed to leave and thanked them for their amazing hospitality. Our hands were then seized by multiple children as we formed a small parade back out of the slum and onto one of the main streets where we were to catch our motor rickshaw back home. As we drove away, we stuck our heads out the side of our ride to watch the children wave and scream goodbye in the distance.

It is overwhelming to have people enter and leave your lives in such a profound and sudden way. Grace and I reflected on what a unique experience we just had, but were saddened by the fact that for us, this was just an experience, and for these children it is everyday life. These children are just like any others you may meet in that they love to sing, dance, and play; they enjoy learning and want attention and praise from adults. And yet, these children lack the same opportunities that others have – their notebooks are ratty and they often share pens, their classroom has no real roof or walls, and they rarely leave their own slum let alone have the opportunity to travel outside Delhi. I will never really know if we made any impact on these children in our few short days with them, however, each of the students (and the experience as a whole) greatly influenced me, and profoundly changed the way that I now see the world.

Sarah

After nine days apart, we happily met up in Delhi where we relaxed for a couple of days before heading to Darjeeling to begin our final class of the year. Our study of ecotourism continued in Gangtok, Sikkim and culminated with a trek through the beautiful Khangchendzonga National Park, so named because at its center stands the third tallest mountain in the world, Mt. Khangchendzonga (meaning “Five Treasures of Snow”).

Before we set out for the trek, we definitely had mixed feelings about it within the group. Some of us had been looking forward to our trek more than any other aspect of our year in Asia, while others would have given anything to get out of it. Some regarded our departure into the mountains (on foot straight out of our hotel, no less!) with immense anxiety, fearful that it would prove too physically straining, while a few such as myself naively thought that it couldn’t be too difficult since none of us had done any kind of training and it was required for class. Despite our varying attitudes going into the trek, in true Pac Rim fashion, we all persevered together and made it through successfully, walking back into that hotel exhausted, but also with a sense of, if not joy, then at least accomplishment.

On a more abstract level, the trek, which was truly our last big adventure together, was the perfect finale to our Pac Rim journey for the way it served as a metaphor of our year as a whole. In those nine days in the Himalayas, we re-experienced both the lows (crazy food anxiety, sudden illness, freezing cold) and the highs (silly games, coming together to provide each other with the strength to continue pushing forward, and of course that awesome feeling of “What is my life this year that I am [insert impossibly awesome experience…in this case, standing at 16,000 ft?!?”). In so many ways, the trek served to secure the lifelong bonds we’ve formed throughout these last nine months.

When we finished our trek and returned to Gangtok, our remaining time together was painfully short, so of course we spent it celebrating like only Pac Rimmers can, with a party during which we impersonated and dressed up as one another while playing Family Feud, and then with an epic dance party at the nicest hotel any of us have even seen a few days later.

And when we did finally have to go our separate ways on May 6 (much like we’d practiced at winter break and then again at spring break…only so much more permanently this time), it was with a lot of sadness, but also with so much joy because we have all been blessed to find a home in the hearts of the twenty-nine wanderers with whom we leapt into the boundless time and time again. Though we will no longer be together 24 hours a day, 7 days a week sharing one pair of pants amongst us all, we will always be the family we became this year, and we have a lot left to look forward to because of that…

Our last big adventure together…

Om Mani Padme Hum Sign after you turn the corner in kora before the prayer wheels

My experience has been changed by this opportunity for a home stay. These past two weeks, I feel as if I have gotten an insight into local culture at a close-up level that I would not have gotten, even if I were staying here for a month! I love the customs and traditions, the delicious food, and the beautiful chupa, which is a Tibetan traditional dress that women wear. Kristi is my PacRim host sister and my host family is fantastic. We are made up of a pa-la (father) an ama-la (mother), and three cho-cho-la (brothers), but the youngest is 17-years-old and away at boarding school, which is quite common, while the middle brother who is 19-years-old is studying for a huge exam. The eldest, I have become very close friends with. His name is Tenzin Gyurmey. I call him Gyurmey because Tenzin is a very common name amongst Tibetans.

Gyurmey walking in kora, coming up to the prayer flags

Gyurmey has shown me many remarkable and incredible sites around Dharamsala like Bhagsu Nag (waterfall) with its vibrant prayer flags, clean and rushing stream, and marvelous hike through nature; and Gangkyi, which is the home of Tibetan history in its library archives and where the Tibetan government-in-exile is located. I wish I could write about every single day of my experience in Dharamsala, but I will spare you my ranting and tell you about kora in the McLeod Ganj district of Dharamsala.

Kari and Kristi turning the prayer wheels in kora

Kora is the large circumambulation around the Main Temple of about 1 to 2 kilometers. The scene is stunning, overlooking much of the town of Dharamsala. As you walk along and recite the six-syllable mantra OM MANI PADME HUM, you come across a spectacular site of prayer flags. When you turn the corner, a plaque of Tashi Delek and OM MANI PADME HUM in Tibetan script greets you, then a myriad of prayer wheels. Give yourself a burst of energy to hike the hill up after you finish turning the prayer wheels clockwise. Close your eyes and inhale deeply; fill your lungs with the fresh air that flows in everything and keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking. Let me tell you a secret about kora, which is how I came to fall in love with it: as a circumambulation, there is no beginning nor an end, which means there is no stop or start because it is all continuous. I walked kora at least once every day, sometimes once in the morning and once in the evening, in addition to circumambulating the Main Temple three times and paying respect to the Buddhist deities. With my religious and spiritual home stay family, I got in touch with my clock of internal happiness and I am so grateful. Dharamsala opened my eyes to a world of infinite possibilities. It is the place from PacRim that I found: one) my spiritual home, and two) my home away from home with the Lhadey family.

Kari

Tashi Delek sign after you turn the corner in kora before the prayer wheels

Another thing to kick off the bucket list – well, sort of. Honestly I have never really thought about paragliding. Someday I do want to go skydiving… But, a few Pacrimmers went paragliding last week, and a group of us decided that we too wanted to go, and the more I thought about it the more excited I got.

I actually love doing things that scare the crap out of me. I love the adrenalin rush and the feeling of accomplishment.

7 of us – me, Anna, Anna’s mom (who was visiting until the end of spring break), Rachel, Monica, Connie, and Stuart, all went to the travel agent, booked a 7-person van to take us to the cliff where we would jump off of, and experience REAL FLIGHT!

It was pretty amazing. I was terrified when I got strapped into a large backpack-like contraption, and the fear grew as I stood with a guy behind me holding a bunch of strings that were supposed to keep us suspended in air. Honestly, nothing about paragliding makes any sense. For starters, anyone who wants to literally RUN off the side of a cliff is clearly nuts. Secondly, the only thing keeping you in the air are a bunch of strings, and some nylon-like material that probably weighs one-tenth of my body weight….but I just went with it.

As I prepared to take my leap, I kept getting asked my weight – they put me with the skinniest guy there – and each time I was asked “your weight miss?” the image of me and this poor guy jumping off the side of a cliff and falling like a rock into oblivion grew stronger and stronger.

But, as the white flag attached to a stick wavered indicating a bit of wind blowing, I felt oddly at ease at the aspect of running off the edge of the mountain. Three men instructed me saying, “do not sit, do not jump, just keep running”. After running 4 half marathons and countless other races, running, is something I can do – not well mind you, but it is something I am fully capable of. And thus, with an “okay- GO!”I ran directly into to open space and suddenly felt myself suspended in air. It was amazing and crazy and terrifying all at once, and I am so glad I did it.

My guide and I were flying through the air for maybe ten or fifteen minutes and it all went by pretty quickly. The wind blew through my hair and blossoming trees and colorful houses were scattered below me in the unique Indian landscape. When it came time to land I was told to keep my feet in the air, and before I knew it we both hit the ground and slid to safety. It was all oddly relaxing – not what I first imagined paragliding to be like, but it was another experience for the records, and something to tide me over until the urge to jump out of a plane arises.

Sarah

Despite all the running around, this place has given me a sense of belonging unlike that of many of our previous temporary homes. Maybe its something about adjusting my internal clock to the daylight hours – waking up around 7am and crawling into bed, exhausted, no later than 10pm – that just feels good. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that someone is awaiting my arrival at the end of the day, curious about my experiences and interested in sharing theirs. Whatever it is, I am so grateful for the chance to make ties here and feel a little more connected to my surroundings.

Anna and her Amala walking along Kora

Anna and I were lucky enough to have been paired with a family that’s “totally our style” as we like to say. They’ve shared their home with plenty of students before us, so they know the drill. But even beyond that they seem to have the same understanding of life’s transience that we on PacRim have become so accustomed to. They are the epitome of “go with the flow,” not fazed by our consecutive bouts of stomach flu, always ready and willing to offer help in any way they can, and more than happy to fit us into their daily routine. They have the best kind of generosity – not stifling or superficial, but genuine and relaxed; it is as though we are visiting old family friends. We are given a considerable amount of independence, but the degree to which we are cared for, and cared about, is never in question. I can’t help but think that a family with a similar attitude would be hard to find back home.

Also telling is their attitude toward the increasingly tense political situation in Tibet and amongst the displaced Tibetans abroad. Rather than resorting to dogmatism or negativity, they have an unyieldingly confident and practical attitude toward their situation. It is as though they know what needs to be done to achieve peace in Tibet, and are just doing their part and calmly awaiting the outcome. When I asked my host mother about whether or not she had ever considered gaining Indian citizenship, she replied with a calm face and a slight shake of the head, “No. I’m going back to Tibet.”

Her blasé attitude proved to be quite misleading at times, most memorably on March 9th, the day before Tibet’s National Uprising Day, when Anna and I followed Amala to the temple, completely unaware that His Holiness the Dalai Lama was in attendance that day. The unusually tight security and overwhelming crowd should have tipped us off, but unfortunately they didn’t. We remained completely oblivious until the moment we were ushered through a narrow pathway of people to a space in front of His Holiness’s throne where we quickly bowed our heads and tried to catch our breath. And Amala hadn’t said a word all morning! I take it as nothing but a reflection of her wisdom and respect for the way things are. There is no need to make a fuss in her mind. Things will happen as they happen, “step by step, one by one” as she always says.

Grace with her Pala

I am left wishing there was more I could do to express my gratitude for everything they’ve done for me and for my experience in Dharamsala. It reminds me of a passage from one of my favorite books, The Alchemist, which has proven relevant to my experience on PacRim time and time again. After leaving the comfort and routine of his home for the first time, the main character comes to a realization about the nature of his relationships with those he meets:
“There was a language in the world that everyone understood…It was the language of enthusiasm, of things
accomplished with love and purpose, and as part of a search for something believed in and desired.”

I’ve never known this to be truer than after my homestay experience. Despite the language barrier between my family and I, their generosity and constant kindness spoke volumes, and inspired me to be selfless in just the same way. On top of that, their ceaseless faith and devotion to their nation said more about them and their Tibetan heritage than any book or class ever could have. I have to believe that by this same token, I was able to express my gratitude, appreciation and respect for them as well.

Grace

Anna, Grace and Their Amala