Winter in Langtang Memory

I spoke with my friend, Mingmar, today. She was, luckily, in Kathmandu when the earthquake hit. The last time I saw her we were together in Langtang in the winter, staying with family members who have now perished in the landslides that have wiped out one of the most beautiful villages on earth.

Talking with Mingmar transported me back to one winter night. Our children, then about 5 and 7 years old, were tucked under so many blankets that they were unable to roll over in bed. Mingmar's aunt and uncle were babysitting. The rest of us - Mingmar, her husband Steve, my husband Tim and I were all headed to the Monastery for a Tibetan funeral/remembrance service for one of their relatives. The night was cold and a light snow had started to fall. The first of the winter. All bundled up against the cold, head torches on, we headed into the night, amidst others also headed to the bright monastery on the hill.

My husband jokes that all Tibetan festivals and rituals are drinking parties - the archery festivals we used to go to were drinking with a bit of archery, and the horseback riding festivals were drinking with some horse back riding! As we arrived a the monastery, and were greeted by women with huge pots of warm local brew, we knew this would be no different! We took out our wooden drinking cups and settled down on the floor to wait for the singing to begin.

I couldn't possibly describe the singing that night in words. It was like nothing I have ever heard before or since. All night, hundreds of Langtang residents, and we two welcomed guests, sang. Lead by the monks, the singing filled the hall. So sweet and so deep - with women and men, young and old, all singing different parts that somehow intertwined to make something truly beautiful, truly extraordinary.

As the night wore on, some of the older people started to leave. As each one got up, a youth would go to their side to escort them home. No one would walk the paths alone at this time of night. Finally, as the sky started to get light, we four quietly slipped away, and walked through the tail end of night back to the house. The snow was still falling and was now a thick blanket covering everything. Tim and I slipped into bed, knowing we wouldn't get more than a few hours of sleep before we were woken by the children, who had never seen snow before.

I think we got maybe 1 hour's sleep! Pulled from our beds, we grabbed our warm clothes, and some tea in metal mugs from Mingmar's aunt in the kitchen, and we were pulled outside by the children. What we saw then was just as delightful as what we had experienced the previous night. Returning from the monastery, half the village was engaged in massive snowball fight. Our plans to watch the kids play from our comfortable vantage point in the courtyard were thwarted when an octogenarian grandmother nailed Tim in the side of the head with a snowball. I'm on her side, I thought, and threw myself into the fray.

It was a night, and a morning, I will never forget. It is memories like these, and I have so so many, that will keep me dedicated to help my Langtang friends, their families, and their friends, come out of these difficult days, and rebuild their lives.