It's 6am, before dawn, and most of the crew leaves on a trek some seemingly thousands of beautiful, dawn-misty kilometers down the road to the Chhairo Gompa Restoration Project—C.G. Being a very old Buddhist monastery that fell into dilapidation and is now being restored through Restoration Works International, the Chhairo Gompa Restoration Group of Nepal, via the Heritage & Environment Conservation Foundation of Nepal—with the famous John Sanday as a technical consultant (www.restorationworksinternational.org). Amidst a bustle of construction by both men and women, we viewed the two sanctuary shrine rooms that hold the artifacts of the monastery, said to be between three and four hundred years old. Half-finished reconstruction was being quietly, but still bustlingly, undertaken around us. The air surrounding the site smelled like the inside of my family business, a 110 year-old planing mill. We entered the courtyard where one lone, old and capable carpenter sawed a beam. Steve and Patricia, who had arrived earlier than us, point us two two inconspicuous and small doors to our right, promising us awe. We duck to enter the first door and are greeted by breathtaking statues—in the center is Buddha, with his female reincarnation to his left and Guru Rinpoche on his right, with other dusty figures surrounding them in this dark, ancient-feeling court. It felt like a long-known secret that we'd discovered; it felt like finding a treasure. And it was. This certainly was no ordinary destination. Murals on the walls of deities and Buddhist tales had been damaged extensively by water leakage and seem ghostly, waiting for their second life in the restoration they will undergo. The second room brings a sharp inhalation upon entering—facing you is the wily and intimidating visage of a gargantuan clay statue of Padmasambhava, aka Guru Rinpoche (credited with bringing Tantric Buddhism to Tibet), his face full of the menacing knowledge of that which is beyond your comprehension. Parts of his crown are missing, jewels plucked by the hands of looters during the time of the monastery's disrepair. One gets the impression that the perpetrators must have made themselves the objects of an eternity of curses, all Indiana Jones-style. In any case, viewing these rooms is a precious experience. It's a religious experience—something I do not feel often.
Back in town after a rigorous trek, the group tiredly but tirelessly delves into the third and final day at the Health Post. It's calmer, and with Bob stoically (but at times claustrophobically as patients crowd around his examination table) administers blood pressure tests, having very unfortunately been rendered incapable of fulfilling his trade of anesthesia by circumstances. The others seeing the rest of the patients, I walk to the end of town to sit for a bit at the Dutch Inn and Bakery. The support of the Dutch group I spoke of before has something to do with a connection with Tukche native Purna Prabha Thakali and her Dutch husband, Patrick Maas. The couple own and operate the place I now sit, the High Plains Inn and Dutch Bakery at the entrance to Tukche, which serves the best apple crumble in the entire universe. On the way back to the clinic I get the pleasure of the company of Purna, who skips out on room-cleaning duties to see the hospital in action at the close of our stay. She is a beautiful, friendly and revolutionary woman – the first in Tukche to wear pants (causing a trend that continues to this day!) She tells me freely and naturally, after 5 minutes of acquaintance, stories of her life—how she and her husband came together, how they moved away from areas that became violent with Maoist fighting in the 90's, and how they came to own the Inn. She comes with me to watch as the equipment is officially handed over from WOF to the elders, officiated by Steve Fuller, who gave a lovely, short speech on how the people had warmed our hearts—which was very true.
Purna is also responsible in some way for supporting the local boarding school for the enigmatic children that visited us at the hospital (you never could imagine children being so willing to go to the doctor—even if they were able to skip class for the privilege. It's a sad indicator, unfortunately.) Some of the girls from the school became my kinda buddies the previous day—when I'd sit outside with those waiting to get in, they'd soon enough sit closely around me. The boldest of the group, obviously a born-cool kinda chick, would ask me questions and ask for pictures of them, giggle at the pictures of their schoolmate boys, and initiate games to pass the time. After we closed down the clinic and took a group picture, Purna invited us to the school for a quick look and welcome/thank you from the kids. Their dorms were very simple, separated by gender. The headmaster ushered us into a small room, and after we were given the customary marigolds as guests of honor we were treated to a rushed one-number traditional dance performance by two of the students at the school while the others piled in, cheering and clapping in time. It was intensely sweet, another little nugget of amazingness that we got. If ever we felt happy not to be normal tourists it was in moments like this.
We rush to get on our bus back to Jomsom. We are given the warmest and most sincere exit ceremony, replete with the requisite silk sashes added in multiples around our shoulders by the elders and many others in the community. As we pull away, the hover around the bus, waving goodbye. I'm sure that my heart wasn't the only one swelling then.
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