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Tuva Trek 2002
Tuva Trek ---- Excerpts from my journalFor those of you interested, below are excerpts from the journal I kept of the details of my Tuva trek. I am half seriously considering turning it into a book--but only if others think it is worthwhile. Let me know! The first entry takes place five days after my journey began back in San Antonio on Wednesday, July 24th. I flew to Atlanta that morning, switched planes to NY, then endured the 9 hour transatlantic overnight flight to Moscow, landing at 11:30am Thursday, July 25th, Moscow time. Stayed up that day sightseeing, walking miles around the city, eating at a Tibetan restaurant, slept at the Rossia Hotel on Red Square. More walking the next day, Friday, July 26th, then got driven by Sasha (crazed Russian driver) to the airport at 9pm for our 4-hour overnight flight to Abakan, in the Republic of Kharkassia, Siberia. Met up with the other trekkers on this flight. Landed at 8:30am Saturday, July 27th Siberia/Tuva time, met up with Andrei, our fearless Russian leader (tall, award-winning mountaineering looks, and a silky voice reminiscent of a young Bela Lugosi...sigh...) We all got to know one another very well on our 12-hour drive, 300 miles, to the start of our trek in northwestern Tuva. Spectacular scenery--open plains, prairie lands, distant mountains, the road gradually winding up and up and up...amazing vistas, sparkling rivers, verdant forests, Tuva was everything I dreamed it would be. And the eagles, one after another, flying free, ever overhead, swooping and soaring, as common as vultures in Texas... Our camp (regular two-person tents and a larger mess tent) was set up for us near Shivilig Spring, one of the numerous healing springs in Tuva and a popular camping destination for Tuvan families. Sunday, July 28, 2:23pm Tuvan time--Our lunch stop is on a hillside within earshot of a river. We left the camp about 2 hours ago, stopping to pay our respects at the Buddhist shrine and medicinal spring. I tied a bit of my bandanna to a tree near the shrine--one of hundreds, thousands of such cloths, each symbolizing a wish or a request for a blessing. We then continued on, hiking past the dozens of families camped in the area, some in what looked like mini versions of yurta (round tents), all peering curiously at us as we passed. Today's hike is supposed to be easy. I'd say it is quite equivalent to being in Texas Hill Country on a mild spring day. The temperature feels about 73 degrees F--actually, it is, according to my combination thermometer/compass/whistle. Last night, once we got to camp (which was already set up for us) we had 1 1/2 hours to make preparations while our cook, Dalana, prepared supper. When we finally ate, it was 10pm and beginning to rain steadily. Occasionally we would see lightning and hear distant thunder. Our hopes that the storm would pass away from us were dashed when a nearby rumble and sudden deluge were joined by a rising wind shaking the mess tent. I finished my dinner, dashed for my tent, and proceeded to get into my sleeping bag trying not to get it wet in the process. Not easy, by any means. The lightning got closer, alarmingly so, and the thunder became simultaneous. Oddly, I felt relaxed--mainly because there was nothing to be done, no house or motel to drive to if the weather got too extreme. Fortunately, the storm diminished grudgingly, and I slept easily to the sound of steady rain. 10pm-Sitting in our tent, Sarah and I, listening to the rain and hail pelt down, having just finished a dinner featuring the heart, liver and lights (organ meats) of the sheep we watched being slaughtered just a few hours previously. Actually, most of our group ate the meat--Sarah and Andrei, being vegetarians, had the soya "newspaper" (at least, that's what the very carnivorous Tuvans called the stuff) prepared by Dalana. One of our horsemen, Alex, bought the sheep from a family living in a nearby yurta for the outrageous price of 1000 rubles--about $30, twice what it cost last year, according to Andrei. As we watched and photographed, the Tuvans killed the sheep in the traditional manner. Turning the ewe over on her back, one man held the sheep while the other, Alex, slit about 8" down the belly with a very sharp knife. At this point, although the abdominal membrane protruded out of the cut, there was surprisingly little blood--almost none. Then, Alex plunged his hand and wrist into the cut--(continued below) Monday, July 29-6:15am--and, just as filmed and described in the documentary "Genghis Blues," he rooted around for the abdominal aorta and squeezed it shut. The sheep gave a great jerk, then remained motionless except for deep, gulping breaths and occasional twitches. Eventually, both the man holding the sheep on its back and Alex squeezing the aorta were able to release their holds. As he withdrew his hand, we could see that it was coated with bright red blood. Everyone was quite impressed with the sheep's relatively easy and merciful death. As we continued to observe, Andrei explained that every scrap of the sheep would be used. The men now skinned the carcass, using the knife to cut in a circle around each knee and do the initial separating of hide from flesh, then using the pressure of their fists to enlarge the separation of skin from muscle by breaking through the fascia. Eventually, the hide was completely free of the rest of the body, but was kept underneath like a tablecloth as they continued the butchering process. Sarah, being a vegetarian, did not wish to observe the killing, but she did come by to witness the later stages. Andrei is also a vegetarian, but, being our guide, he seemed to feel an obligation to watch and explain. However, he left several times, and I believe he was nauseated by the process. The rest of us were riveted as we photographed the different stages. I think the Tuvans appreciated our obvious interest and support of their necessary "dinner preparations" because shortly thereafter, our horse handlers presented the group with about a liter of araka, their local fermented drink made from milk (we were told it was cow's milk, but I thought horse milk was traditional.) The liquor, about 20-30 proof, was clear as water, smooth but "prongy" according to Truda, and reminded me of Parmesan cheese in flavor. As my mug had a little sugar residue in the bottom, I tried it "sweetened" at first, and thought it tasted delicious. The others were impressed but not especially ready to switch over from the vodka Andrei had so kindly provided. I am sure the vodka was quite good as well, but I have no interest in trying any commercial alcohol since I rarely drink. (Author's note: This attitude changed over the course of the trek, and I enjoyed Russian vodka, fine cognac, and Abakan beer on later days.) I now have the remainder of the araka, and I plan to try to bring it back to the US--perhaps disguised as water in a water bottle...(Author's note--SUCCESS!!! The only Tuvan Araka outside the immediate area of southern Siberia is sitting in my refrigerator--I drank a small toast August 15th to celebrate the Tuvan festival, Naadym...) (Skipping ahead a few pages...) Monday, July 29th, 7pm--About 12 hours later, but a far different feeling from this morning. I am exhausted, I'm moving like I am 100 years old, but I am jubilant about what I accomplished today. This was our ascent of Mount Chailag Mongulek, 2677m (about 8000 feet). Our morning trek started at 9:30am--a long, continuous uphill featuring increasingly steeper grades. By 10am, I knew I was going to be in trouble. All of the others are experienced mountain trekkers who have trained at heights for years. Several have even trekked to places like Mount Everest base camp--I don't want to even THINK about how high that is. They're walking along, chatting unconcernedly--meanwhile, I'm silent, breathing heard, heart pounding, sweat pouring, certain that I'm not even going to make it to the point where we'll have the option of continuing up the steepest part of the trail to the summit, or going around it to descend to our camp with the horses. Each rest stop is a merciful gift, but my legs are aching again a mere 10 minutes after we resume. It takes us two hours--two long, agonizing hours--to get to the "choosing point." Once again, Andrei describes our options and gives us a choice. I am the only one who is lagging behind--so far behind that Ilya, our assistant guide, has to wait patiently as I trudge along. So, I let everyone know that I plan to take the horses' route and skip the ascent of the peak. Immediately, they all protest. They point out that the pace has been vigorous, but we really have plenty of time. On a trek, Sarah says, you can set your own pace, even if it takes you twice as long to get to the top. Andrei emphasizes that there is no hurry, and even gives me one of his trekking poles. Walter insists on carrying some of my gear. Barry and George agree that it was a difficult ascent. Truda says I'll be fine, take as long as I need. In the face of all this support (and looking down at our impressive progress so far) how can I say no? I agree, and privately decide to keep putting one foot in front of the other until I drop. Which I never do--drop, that is. I cannot describe the next segment of the trip adequately except to say it was the most difficult challenge I ever faced. Trudging up the slope, I learned I could only keep going by placing one foot forward, then shifting my hips forward until the momentum put all my body weight on that foot. Only then could I move the other. I began moving slower and slower--agonizingly slow, counting my progress in inches rather than feet. When my heart began pounding and my breath got too rapid, I would stop in my tracks and wait for them to calm down. We took a candy bar break about halfway up that segment of slope, the others sitting for a good 10 minutes while I struggled to join them. As I approached, I managed to gasp out, "Now, if you all start moving again in a minute I'm going to be really annoyed." They laughed and assured me that they would not--they would wait at least two minutes. It was closer to 15 minutes, a good break, time to gaze below at the tiny dots that were our horses moving past the point where I'd had to decide to continue. Tiny, yes, but our next goal was still a depressingly long height above us. And the actual summit was shrouded in fog. It felt like hours later when once again, I trudged up to where the others were resting. Now, only the summit remained--1300 very steep feet above. I told the others about my friend John-- Tuesday, July 30, 7:15am--who studies anthropology/archeology, and how fascinated and interested he is in the Scythian culture. The Scythians were an ancient civilization of fierce warriors who have left behind some stunning examples of their gold sculpture. At the top of our mountain today were 4 untouched Scythian burial mounds. Usually, gold and other objects were interred with the dead in these mounds, which have been plundered and excavated over the centuries. As I told the rest of the group, the chance to visit these undisturbed graves and get a photo for John was driving me on to complete the climb. Finally, the last leg of the ordeal. Straight up, one painful step after another, don't allow myself to stop, Peter Gabriel's "Red Rain" playing in my mind. The clouds moved in, obscuring my view of the progress I made--I could only look up at the distance remaining. The backs of my heels were sore--I wondered if I was developing blisters. Young Ilya followed, his ice axe occasionally clanging against some other piece of metal dangling from his backpack. He was zigzagging across the slope behind me, giving himself a harder workout rather than trudging along at my snail's pace. I watched the others ascend above me, watched as one by one they reached the top and disappeared. I kept plodding along, tortoise-like. My legs did not really hurt--heart and lungs were the limiting factors. Every time I sipped water from my drinking tube, I had to gulp carefully to swallow without choking. I kept watching the miniature landscape at my feet--the decomposed granite base, the sparse but beautiful alpine flowers, the colorful lichens and mosses, the dwarf bushes, the trees no more than a foot tall. Near the summit, we reached an area of large boulders. Several times I needed Ilya to point out the correct direction so that I could circle around these obstacles. We were high enough now to view the valley to our right, a dramatic expanse of mountain rising beyond that. I finally reached the top. Upon it had been built a small wooden tower about 25 feet tall. The Scythian burial mound, the highest on the mountain, at least, was close to the tower. It consisted of a circular, flat pile of rocks, with a "headstone" jutting up out of the center. I wondered how long it would remain untouched, and what treasures were buried with its occupant. It must have been a very important person to be honored with such a breathtaking view--the work to create the grave at such altitude would have been considerable. We ate our lunch there on the summit. I was moving slow from the altitude, but I felt a deep sense of satisfaction over my accomplishment. Our climb up had taken about five hours. Sarah asked me if it was worth it. I replied, "Yes!" with no hesitation, and I truly meant it. Sep. 5, 2002-More Tuvan memories:Our English-speaking city tour guide, Rollanda, took us to one of the several shaman clinics in Kyzyl to meet a couple of the shamans. We walked into a small, low-ceilinged building, cool, quiet, lit only by the sun. She pulled aside a tapestry in a doorway and indicated that we should enter the room. Seated behind a desk in one corner, looking at us in a friendly way, was a slim Tuvan man, probably in his 30's or 40's. Rollanda introduced him as Yuri. As Rollanda told Yuri what each one of our group did for a living, he acknowledged every person with a gracious nod. Rollanda introduced me last, and, instead of nodding, he put his hands together in prayer pose and bowed to me formally. I immediately knew he was acknowledging me as a fellow healer, an equal, and I bowed back. As we talked to him, his sincerity and compassion impressed everyone, even the atheists in our group. Through Rollanda's interpretation, he explained that he was an orphan (I guessed that his adoptive family was Russian, accounting for his Russian name) but that his grandmother recognized his serious childhood illnesses and fainting as signs that he was to become a shaman. Since shamanism was repressed by the Soviets, he had to rely on the knowledge of the few elders who had not been killed for their beliefs, as well as the work of Professor Lapsang, a Tuvan scholar/shaman at the university. In the winter months, most of the shamans stay in Kyzyl and their patients come to see them here. In the warmer weather, many of the shamans travel all over Tuva, administering to the people as necessary. They hold ceremonies of various lengths--3-day, 7-day, 24-day--and they also go to the holy springs, each of which may help in the healing of different kinds of ailments. He said any of us would be welcome to join in the ceremonies. Although he was dressed in western style clothing and had a briefcase opened on his desk, his strong and gentle natural spirit was quite evident. He had a silk ceremonial jacket with wide sleeves hanging on the wall behind him. He put it on, and it had cloth fringes hanging down, as well as beads, feathers, a beaver paw, lynx-fur cuffs, and a hammered metal plate on the back depicting Mahakala, a fierce Tibetan guardian deity. He also put on his headdress, which had owl feathers from a tundra owl. He picked up his drum, a beautiful rawhide creation with another guardian deity depicted on the inside. Everyone else lost no time in snapping away one photo after another, to which he submitted graciously, but I felt that for me to do so would be disrespectful, so I have no photos of him or his trappings. I could sense a quiet power about him, and a strong spiritual faith. I sensed that he derived his power from water--soft, flowing, but incredibly powerful in the right circumstances. He did something that surprised the three biggest skeptics--he gifted them with musk deer tusks (for Barry) and bear fangs (for Truda and George). Even Rollanda was amazed--these were very generous gifts. I think the rest of us were wondering at first why he chose to give these things to those particular people in our group. However, I soon realized that he gave to the people who needed the most help, the ones most lacking in spirituality. After we had talked at length with Yuri, he offered to do divination for any of us who might be interested. I wanted to, so Rollanda said she would take the others to visit another shaman and then she would return to interpret for me. However, Yuri and I started and proceeded quite nicely without her help. First, he indicated that I should sit in the chair across from his desk. As I did so, I removed my watch, fanny pack and sunglasses. I took out my money purse, emptied it of all the ruble and kopek coins I had (several dollars worth) and proceeded to bow and offer them to him as a donation. He bowed and took the coins, did a blessing over them, and put them in a little dish on his desk. Then, he took out a pouch with about 40 little smooth stones. He had collected each stone ceremonially from a different holy spring in Tuva. He poured the stones out into his hands carefully, breathed on them, then indicated that I was to blow on them. I did so, concentrating on my question. He then allowed them to trickle out onto a cloth on his desk. He then arranged them more neatly into the clumps that had formed. At that point, Rollanda returned. Through Rollanda, he asked me if I had a particular concern or health issue. I told him that my heart was heavy--that where I lived in the US did not feel right, but that I did not know where to go. As I asked this, I felt the great weight of the sadness that I had kept at bay threaten to overwhelm me. Right now I just wanted to stay here in Tuva with all of the wonderful experiences I had had in the last two weeks. (Quite honestly, before this trip, I had been planning to move to Washington state next May. However, after two weeks of being in Tuva, talking to folks from Switzerland, Ireland, Russia, England, et cetera, I realized I was overwhelmed with too many choices and that Washington no longer drew me as it previously had.) Yuri pondered this, and talked at length with Rollanda. At last she turned to me and said, "Yuri says that you must be stronger. You can come visit Tuva often, and he will be happy to work with you, but you must find your spiritual center where you are now." Not the answer I wanted, but, perhaps, the one I needed. Next, Yuri took out a small piece of red, gold and white string. He indicated that he wanted me to hold out my wrist. He tied the string on my wrist and cut off the excess. Through Rollanda, he told me to wear it until it broke, then, take the pieces, wrap them in a white cloth, burn them and scatter the ashes to the west. Finally, he wanted to do a drumming over me. He stood up and lit a juniper branch. As it flamed, he purified himself and his drum with the smoke. Then, he had me stand in the center of the room while he ran the flame up and down my body and head. Next, he had me sit and he picked up the drum. I closed my eyes as he started a light, steady drumming and a quiet chanting. I could feel it reverberating through me--powerful but not pushy, just a very positive, clean feeling. When I opened my eyes and stood, I felt refreshed, lighter, and yes, more powerful. The sadness, the heart heaviness was gone. I still did not know what would happen when I got back to the US, but it did not matter. I thanked him, and we took turns bowing again and again to each other. He put out both his hands, palms up, and I put mine on his, palms down. I found out later that this was a special tradition usually done on the New Year celebration. We then left him and Rollanda led me over to where the others were talking to the second shaman. It was amazing--as soon as we entered this shaman's office, I had a quite different feeling than I did with Yuri. This man had HIS robe on the wall--It was a big, heavy thing, obviously intended to impress, made of bear hide, with a bear's skull, a wolf's skull and other showy ornamentation. His headdress was of black and white mottled feathers that I learned later came from a game bird similar to a turkey, known for its aggressiveness. This shaman was a big man. He was in the process of showing a photo album of a flame ceremony he had done, and he was pointing out the faces in the flames--his spirit helpers, he said. He invited us to have tea with him in the yurt outside, which we did. After our tea, we took our leave of the clinic. At this point, Yuri did appear to say goodbye. I let him know through Rollanda that I would be back, hopefully as early as December, and that I would welcome working with him. The rest of the day was full of positive feeling, on my part, for being there in that wonderful place. When I got back to San Antonio, I noticed something very extraordinary. I found that all of the little petty irritations that had made me want to move were gone. As I drove around town and saw the little reminders of Tuva in a thousand small details, I realized that Yuri's advice did not mean just "Stay in the US"--it really meant to stay HERE--San Antonio--where I already have so many things that are perfect. I have my home, my martial arts group, the Japanese sword show every year, my San Antonio and Dallas patients (I am a chiropractor), my animals, a whole slew of good friends--the list goes on and on and on. I have built a very deep spiritual foundation here. Now, on top of it all, I have a clear connection to Tuva to help me keep that foundation strong. Throughout the day and night, I can send my spirit 10,000 miles away in an instant and feel it be there. I can feel a delicate but strong connection to Yuri. Sometimes the string on my wrist feels like an entire wrist cuff of silver--a welcome and comforting presence. Imagine that--me, the biggest New Age skeptic I know, frequently rolling my eyes at book-taught shamans pushing their store-bought trappings on idealistic joint-smoking post-hippie era baby boomers. But I guess it's hard to argue with real compassion, sincerity, and an openness that borders on vulnerability. And that is what I encountered in my visit with Yuri. He might have been a Buddhist monk, a Hindu yogi, a Shinto priest, a Franciscan brother--his desire to help others and to live his life giving of himself unconditionally struck a resonant chord with me. I am making my plans right now to return December 26-Jan. 6, and I do plan to spend next August in Tuva. Maybe Yuri will help me discover how I can better draw upon the power within me, the power that I know is tied to the wind and the sky and the eagles I love so much in Tuva. And I am working on my Russian language skills so that I will be able to converse on a physical level as well!
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