1. 26 January


    The tibetan nomads.. An unfortune meeting, a fellow from here that speaks english, rare thing around.. Excited, having finally a proper conversation, talking for hours.. He is doing business with the nomads in the mountains, so after a great invite, we are on. The dirt track, going hundred kilometers out of town, the landscape is icy, it is minus something.. we are high and it is gorgeous, slowly making our way we pass few towns and a couple of monasteries, as Tachilek tells the faery tales about the valley, stories of Monks from an ancient monastery protected by silk golden coat firing at the chinese army as they come through to invade Tibet, stories of tens of yaks taken by the river not properly frozen they did survived after going down the rapids, only the tea and salt they were carrying got wet.. Stories of a holy mountain covered with great trees, that the chinese army burned down.. Stories and Fary tales, of these valleys, inhabited by men since ancient times, time, here standing still.. A couple hours after, a good half hour hike and we finally arrive at the house, this family use it during the cold months, one hundred yaks, the parents, the older son helping them, and a new tiny homeless baby.. “Tachidele” as Tachilek introduce each others, going inside their little home, we get the usual but surely delicious milk tea, yak butter, and have a joyful moment. Being invited in a family is always a warm feeling of getting back to your own family for a moment. This very special love, that only parents, brother or sister, gives you. And whether it makes you angry or happy, whether it is hard to accept it, you know, that this love will always be, and it is beautiful. In the corner, blankets wrap up a two month old baby, a mother from Nangchen didn’t want it, so the nomad lady took it. Extremely weak without the mothers milk, yak milk trying to replace it, they did not gave the baby a name, hopeful, they said, someday they will go see the lama of the valley and he will decide.. By the window the white mountains gets blue, the knife cutting the dried yak meat, the tea smoking, like a song tales keeps on, the mother preparing diner is smiling, we eat, silence filling the room, tales from their walks to Lhasa, from their life during summer high in the mountains, continuing through the night.. The stove warming up the room calmly, the water boiling, the day ending, and the mind fulfilled by melancholia…  Dreams through the day will simply have to follow through the night.. You can sleep now.

    The tibetan nomads..

    An unfortune meeting, a fellow from here that speaks english, rare thing around.. Excited, having finally a proper conversation, talking for hours.. He is doing business with the nomads in the mountains, so after a great invite, we are on.

    The dirt track, going hundred kilometers out of town, the landscape is icy, it is minus something.. we are high and it is gorgeous, slowly making our way we pass few towns and a couple of monasteries, as Tachilek tells the faery tales about the valley, stories of Monks from an ancient monastery protected by silk golden coat firing at the chinese army as they come through to invade Tibet, stories of tens of yaks taken by the river not properly frozen they did survived after going down the rapids, only the tea and salt they were carrying got wet.. Stories of a holy mountain covered with great trees, that the chinese army burned down.. Stories and Fary tales, of these valleys, inhabited by men since ancient times, time, here standing still..

    A couple hours after, a good half hour hike and we finally arrive at the house, this family use it during the cold months, one hundred yaks, the parents, the older son helping them, and a new tiny homeless baby..

    “Tachidele” as Tachilek introduce each others, going inside their little home, we get the usual but surely delicious milk tea, yak butter, and have a joyful moment. Being invited in a family is always a warm feeling of getting back to your own family for a moment. This very special love, that only parents, brother or sister, gives you. And whether it makes you angry or happy, whether it is hard to accept it, you know, that this love will always be, and it is beautiful.

    In the corner, blankets wrap up a two month old baby, a mother from Nangchen didn’t want it, so the nomad lady took it. Extremely weak without the mothers milk, yak milk trying to replace it, they did not gave the baby a name, hopeful, they said, someday they will go see the lama of the valley and he will decide..

    By the window the white mountains gets blue, the knife cutting the dried yak meat, the tea smoking, like a song tales keeps on, the mother preparing diner is smiling, we eat, silence filling the room, tales from their walks to Lhasa, from their life during summer high in the mountains, continuing through the night..

    The stove warming up the room calmly, the water boiling, the day ending, and the mind fulfilled by melancholia… 

    Dreams through the day will simply have to follow through the night..

    You can sleep now.