A late snow made it hard to walk on the sidewalks. Salt from yellow Department of Transportation trucks ate at my boots. Ice hid under new snow making steps treacherous.
Usually when we had to walk out of Jumla to get to school it was because of monsoon. The heavy clouds filled the mountain passes, sometimes for weeks on end, so the little Canadian-made twin engine planes could not see their way through. We would wait till the last possible day to make our connections, then hike out carrying our school stuff in our backpacks. It took 5 days if you kept moving.
A couple of times we had to walk out when the snowfall prevented planes from landing. We didn't own boots; it was hard to keep your footing on the mountain paths with the stiff soles anyway. Our canvas sneakers got pretty wet and our feet got pretty cold after 15 miles. We would come to a "hotel" along the trail: hopefully a space to share with people not animals where we could roll out our sleeping bags, with a fire to dry out our tennies overnight, and a big plate of hot rice and dahl. That was all we needed. Next day, hot "chiya" before starting out. In the winter we had to use the lower pass, which took a little longer, because the snow might catch us in the highest elevations if we used the shorter route.
In the Himalayas people don't just put on an extra layer of polar fleece and pull on their Sorrels. Winter involves a lot of sitting next to the smokey wood fire. The animals live under the kitchen, so they help warm the house and it's not far to take care of them, but you have to go and forage food for them. When you go to school or to market, you wear wool socks your father knit last fall as he walked to work. If father had an especially good job you might be able to buy woolen boots from Tibetan traders on their way to India with a mule train. You also might have been lucky enough for grandmother to have woven you a woolen shawl made from the wool from the sheep you herded all last summer.
I think of the hefty heating bills with our severe winter on the eastern coast. And I think of evenings spent sitting in the kitchen with my family next to the wood stove, reading by the light of a kerosene lantern or a camp light charged by the sun. When the battery wears down, it's time to take your candle up to your cold room and climb under the covers quick.
Usually when we had to walk out of Jumla to get to school it was because of monsoon. The heavy clouds filled the mountain passes, sometimes for weeks on end, so the little Canadian-made twin engine planes could not see their way through. We would wait till the last possible day to make our connections, then hike out carrying our school stuff in our backpacks. It took 5 days if you kept moving.
A couple of times we had to walk out when the snowfall prevented planes from landing. We didn't own boots; it was hard to keep your footing on the mountain paths with the stiff soles anyway. Our canvas sneakers got pretty wet and our feet got pretty cold after 15 miles. We would come to a "hotel" along the trail: hopefully a space to share with people not animals where we could roll out our sleeping bags, with a fire to dry out our tennies overnight, and a big plate of hot rice and dahl. That was all we needed. Next day, hot "chiya" before starting out. In the winter we had to use the lower pass, which took a little longer, because the snow might catch us in the highest elevations if we used the shorter route.
In the Himalayas people don't just put on an extra layer of polar fleece and pull on their Sorrels. Winter involves a lot of sitting next to the smokey wood fire. The animals live under the kitchen, so they help warm the house and it's not far to take care of them, but you have to go and forage food for them. When you go to school or to market, you wear wool socks your father knit last fall as he walked to work. If father had an especially good job you might be able to buy woolen boots from Tibetan traders on their way to India with a mule train. You also might have been lucky enough for grandmother to have woven you a woolen shawl made from the wool from the sheep you herded all last summer.
I think of the hefty heating bills with our severe winter on the eastern coast. And I think of evenings spent sitting in the kitchen with my family next to the wood stove, reading by the light of a kerosene lantern or a camp light charged by the sun. When the battery wears down, it's time to take your candle up to your cold room and climb under the covers quick.
