MOUNTAIN LIFE - Blue Mountains | Fall 2018

FALL 2018 ML BLUE 57 The morning before ascending the second pass, all my guides congregate in the cook shack for breakfast. It’s our first breakfast together. The horseman, Pasang, and helper, Tshering, can’t speak English, so I ask Rinzin to translate: “Do they know why I am here?” “That’s personal, I would not ask.” So I share the story of my mother. They don’t say anything—these are strong mountain men—but for the remainder of the trip, we eat our meals together. Starting out, Rinzin and I walk in silence for a few hours—I’m too tired and cold to think about my mother. And honestly, I am frustrated that I can’t see her face or recall certain memories. But death reminders are everywhere in Bhutan, especially in the mountains. On a rock ledge are dozens of tiny clay shrines that look like teapots. Made after a funeral, sometimes they include bits of the person’s bones inside. On the bottom, a hole reveals a hidden paper message inside. I wonder what I would say to my mother now. Nothing. We said it all. Days before she died, I told her I was sorry for being so stubborn. “You fought me on everything,” she agreed. I purposely went tree-planting to be less feminine; I avoided wearing makeup, because my mother was fancy. I resisted her. The Bhutanese think it’s therapeutic to think about death five times a day… ABOVE Stacked rice terraces edge the Puna Tsang Chhu River in Punakha. BELOW Horses wait to leave a snowy campsite at Jimi Langsto Lake in the Bhutanese Himalaya.