By tierneybb
When you tell the locals of Kathmandu that you're going on trek, they nod politely and ask where, but they won't recognize the name "Tsum." Few people do, despite its proximity to the popular Manaslu circuit. However, protected from the nosing bustle of tourism by both the government and sheer remoteness, Tsum is one of the "untouched Shangri-las" of the Himalayas.
It's difficult to keep this in an unidealized perspective. I adored Tsum, I loved it, after seven days of trekking up the Ganesh Himal Trail I was more than ready to pronounce our destination as unworthy of the blood, sweat, and tears spent getting there (literally, as we were attacked by leeches, heat, and exhaustion en route). But I was thoroughly disappointed in myself when I immediately fell head over heels in love with Tsum. It's so much of what I don't like: No plumbing, minimal electricity, damp tents, and homestays that have you sleep on the porch in temperatures below freezing (to be fair they were sleeping there too, without down sleeping bags). Even on our horseback ride, the short ponies with shorter tempers (attested to by the hoof-shaped bruise blossoming across both my shins) and harsh wooden saddles hardly stood up to the epic scenery and sheer fun of racing our translators down the valley past the lines of stacked Chortens. Even the guy who fell off and was dragged by the stirrup (he's fine) had an excellent ride. Maybe it's the novelty of "roughing it," but this rugged valley and the life people have carved into it is amazing and infectious. I am determined to bring back the habits of elderly Tibetan/Tsumpa women to the US. I already wobble my head side to side unintentionally, I've got the awkward hand gestures, and I'm working on sticking my tongue out when feeling cheeky or awkward. Next comes making a loud clicking noise whenever something tastes/feels "clicking" good, Amala did this most often when hot local alcohol with a fried egg in it was involved. I think that I will leave storing small items under my chupa in flaps of skin/fat/boob here though, there are some things that should stay... local.
After some less than inspired field work in Namo Buddha I was determined to research something I really cared about in Tsum. Our coordinator Danny recommended collecting local ghost stories and I jumped on the opportunity (perhaps a cliche phrase, but i actually shouted "DIBS!!" down the dinner table the first night of trek, some jumping may also have been involved). I expanded the topic somewhat to include what I thought of as the three major supernaturals of the region: spirits/ghosts, zombies known as Rolangs, and the yeti known here as Te and MaTe (male and female respectively). The interviews I held over the course of our stay were phenomenal. Hospitality customs dictated that for each interview Pemba (one of our wonderful translators, a group of three troublemakers affectionately known as the "Sherps") and I were invited to sit by the hearth, poured steaming cups of yak butter tea (an acquired taste to be sure, but after trekking and in the cold weather simply divine) and offered spicy fresh food. Between bites and sips we were regaled with stories of yeti attacks, escapes, and traps thought up by the heroes of centuries past. No one describing the protection afforded by the low doors could resist miming a zombie running into the door frame or tripping over the stop. Everyone's knowledge of these beings was at least a century old, passed down from generations before, but solid in their conviction and detail, all describing the same subdivisions of yetis, ghosts, and zombies (there's a different way to kill a zombie depending upon weather it's a skeleton, blood zombie, or mole zombie). One of the most prominent members of the community, and leader of the thriving women's organization, even pulled from the corner of the room her own yeti spear, for when they follow the smoke of the hearth and enter through the roof; she admitted it hadn't happened in one hundred years, but she was ready, and I have no doubt she wouldn't hesitate to skewer an invading yeti. Pemba had a revelation about the stories his mom had told him as a young child (they all say the exact same things, there must be something there...) Even I, the super skeptic, don't believe in anything not even calories, started to have dreams in which my knowledge how how to fend off fire-spirits and chest-pressing ghosts was tested in almost video-game-esque trials of supernatural encounters (throwing your dirty socks stops the fire-spirits in case you ever find yourself in a similar situation). I'm making light, but these stories are fascinating and complex and rich and I cannot wait to write my paper about them (obviously).
As we packed up our bags and headed home (covering in three days what had taken seven, my joints are still swollen) each step felt as if it were erasing my time in Tsum. Walking somewhere, somewhere far, with only one road (if a cliff face on which you climb up a waterfall can be called a road, which here it is) is an entirely different experience. Going back to the program house and holding class on poufs instead of huddled against the 6am cold with pack mules passing between us just seems surreal. I'm starting to suspect I may get reverse culture shock upon returning to the US. Longterm ex-pats here report having panic attacks in US supermarkets. I've been bathing in glacial streams for the past two weeks in a lungi (like a sarong, but more conservative) (also a word of advice: if the water is so cold you instantly go numb you will not feel the razor burn happening to your desperately hairy legs, maybe put off shaving) I actually went crazy over the cold bucket shower I have here in Kathmandu. In a perfect world I could alternate between the extremes, live in my cozy D.C. apartment, and fly into Tsum for the long weekends, but even if such a thing were possible it wouldn't be the same. Part of the magic of Tsum is how distant it is, how hard it was to get there, and how I must treasure every moment I had with Amala Choden around the hearth because I know I am way too lazy to hike up there again.