Frosted window in the morning. Woke up then fell back asleep. Luckily days come late here so even when I heard the family getting up again, it was still before sunrise.
Sangji walked me out to see the herders drove their yaks out. Hundreds of yaks walked into the morning fog, then the big red sun rises right above the horizon. It was a gorgeous sight for winter solstice. I’ll freeze the frame and send it to Steve as I promised.
Sunrise didn’t last very long at all, a few minutes of adjusting iris, finding the right angle to include the herders on their horses, and then it was already the day.
Back inside, Sangji’s wife cleaned the table where they put pictures of Dalai Lama, the lama at Langmusi who lives at India now, and a few others. The situation is not as strict here since it’s so far away from anywhere and no party leaders bother to come. The herders have some freedom putting out whoever pictures they like, and the Dalai Lama is still the spiritual leader in their mind.
The wife cleaned the small metal bowls with burnt yak dung, which polished the copper amazingly well. After the table and the scripture books were dusted, she added water to the little bowls, put some yak butter in the bigger one, poured in hot water, and then Sangji came to mumble some scriptures.
Cell signals were sporadic that day, which was kind of normal. I was hoping to go and film some more Baisang’s family but he was not home. Another idea was to film some elders talking about what they’ve been seeing over the years. After breakfast, which lasted for about two hours, Sangji rode out to see who he could find; the wife did some stiching work; I waited, and played with the granddaughter, who seem to be amused by anything and everything.
After Sangji came back with no confirmed arrangements, he offered to take me to the confluence of the Black River and the Huang (or Yellow) River where his first daughter lived, in a tent.
Kind of a bumpy ride but not as bad as when we crossed the dried-up peatland in the summer. One section was by a seasonal wash, all others were among dried grasslands, and there was remaining of a mud wall the villagers built some twenty years ago to protect the best of the pastures.
At the confluence. This side of the Black River is Si’Chuan, the other, Kham. The city of Maqu is right across the river. I asked Sangji about the gold mine. He pointed at the mountain side where some construction were clearly visible. The mine, the processing factory.
A big herd of yaks tried to walk down to the sandbars by the river. Sangji told me the river bank has been retreating visibly over the past twenty years. High wind in the spring time turned into dust storm after taking in the fine soil from the eroded river bank, he believed.
The Huang River was not completely frozen though the ice blocks made it looked very rugged. Sangji said loud cracking noise of ice crashing could be heard at night.
A short ride from the river was the daughter and her husband’s little tent, in a camp of about 6 or 7 families. They are still the true nomads. The two look like teenagers but are already the parents of two children. The little boy about a year old cried hiding behind his mom when he saw me. The young husband rode out while the daughter cooked. He soon came back with a big bag of snacks and spread in between me and Sangji. I wish I could convince them there were so much unhealthy chemicals in the snacks they didn’t need. After a nice dinner (or lunch), Sangji and I rode back in the cold. The sun had already set by the time we reached his house.
The younger daughter and the wife were making dough and fillings — yak meat for dumplings. The daughter could make the perfectly looking moomoo (a kind of dumpling like a bun), but not jiaozi(potstickers) so I taught them how to wrap. They had a great time learning. The daughter got it much faster than the son in-law and she made sure to give him a hard time showing off her “masterpieces”. Quite a co-incident dumpling-making the same tradition parents will follow at home for winter solstice.
More hope for tomorrow. So much appreciate the family treating me like one of their own.