Daily life across the Tibetan highlands

• I arrived in Samad, the village by Lake Tso Kar, just after sunrise at 6:15 am. The vehicle’s heater was broken, so I was bundled in three layers of fleece. Unlike my last visit during the elections, the village felt quiet and empty. As a man approached the car, I rolled down the window and greeted him with a jullay. Holding up my phone with a picture of Tashi, I asked the driver, who was also acting as my translator, to ask the man if he knew where she was. After glancing at the photo for just a couple of seconds, he told us that she had left two days ago for her summer camp in the valley, east of the lake, off the Manali road.

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  We took the road again and fifteen minutes later, we spotted it—a blue rebo perched on the small hill, the last one in sight. Tashi stood outside, washing dishes among scattered belongings. I walked over, and we embraced, overjoyed to see each other again. This was my third visit to three different camps in just two months. She welcomed us into her tent for butter tea, the traditional tea of the Changpas made from yak butter, salt, and brewed tea leaves. We communicated as best we could, using gestures and the translator’s broken English. He mentioned, « We're welcome to stay with her and her husband ». That day, I followed her and helped her with her daily chores.

  Here in Changthang,  this remote cold desert region at 15,000 ft, people live in isolation and you have to be self-sufficient. Nothing grows due to the harsh conditions, so the people rely primarily on their animals for food, crafting everything they eat from them. Just before I arrived, she had finished milking the yaks. She then showed me the long process of how to make curd and butter out of it. For lunch she asked me to help her with the chapatis. She was as surprised as I was embarrassed to tell her that I had never learned how to make chapatis. From a western girl, who only knows grocery stores and restaurants, It was a humbling experience that made me realize how disconnected I had been from the sources of my food and the true effort that goes into sustaining oneself in such a remote and challenging environment.
  In the afternoon, we took a few chai breaks inside the tent. Jigmet, a 41-year-old neighbor and close friend of Tashi, joined us. She has four daughters, three studying in Leh and one who is a nun at the monastery. Unlike Tashi, Jigmet seems to struggled with the semi-nomadic life « I wanted to go to school, but there wasn’t one in Changthang when I was young. Now, even if I moved to the city, I wouldn’t find work without an education. So, I stay here to pay for my daughters' schooling, but I don’t want them to live a nomadic life ». Tashi responded that she would stay in Changthang until she died. Maybe it reveals the complexity of adaptation between generations : Tashi, part of the older generation, had no choice, while Jigmet, on the cusp of modernization, nearly chose a different path.

  By the end of the day, around 7:30 pm, the sun had already set behind the mountains. The goats and shepherds' dogs had returned to camp, and the only task left was securing the yaks. Four families busily herded them into their enclosure, and I watched as Tashi threw her mala into the air, startling the yaks into moving. I stood there, trying not to get trampled, amazed by her energy. She amazed me, we had been on the move since dawn, yet she showed no signs of fatigue.

  As night fell and the temperature dropped, we huddled around the central bukhan, used for heating and cooking, listening to the wind and the distant bells of grazing animals. The rice, dhal, and goat quietly simmered over the fire, and Tashi handed me a Tibetan prayer wheel to recite prayers. Thankfully, my mother, a practicing Buddhist, had taught me a few mantras when I was young, allowing me to share this moment—Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum... Tashi smiled warmly, and I felt a deep connection bridging our two worlds. Together, we experienced something increasingly rare in modern times—a simple yet profoundly complex humanity.