After another late start we again enjoyed a lazy breakfast on the sunny terrace of Green. We were so distracted by our porridge and boiled eggs (not together, of course) and by the beautiful view that we almost jumped out of our seats when the sugar pot was suddenly snatched from beneath my nose by an adventurous monkey. He then sat only a metre away, as he dipped his muzzle into the pot and looked down at us with a smug grin. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I didn't want to surrender the restaurant's pot so easily, so inched towards him without any real plan of action. He snarled at me and leapt from the railing of the terrace down to the balcony of a hotel room just a few metres away. Having given up on the sugar pot, I leaned over to take a photo of his sugary muzzle.
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| About to pounce... |
He either hated or wanted my camera, because he threw himself up at me with great menace (a face straight out of Planet of the Apes). I retreated a couple of steps, and we faced off for a moment. I was bigger than him, but wasn't quite sure how one fights off a monkey, or how nasty they can be (his gnashers looked pretty big from close up). After a bit of shouting the nasty creature retreated back to the balcony, and one of the waiters came out with a stick to drive him off further. One look at the stick and he scarpered.
After this exciting breakfast we went for a leisurely stroll around the village. Clem had read that there were opportunities to teach English to Tibetan refugees, so we were looking for one of the charities that coordinated such things. We would only be able to do a couple of days so couldn't be of much help, but reasoned that this would still be better than nothing. We found a place called Tibet Volunteer, which ran an informal conversation class every afternoon at 3pm, and we were told that we would be more than welcome to help out. Just below the charity was the sign for Tibetan cooking classes, something else we had been considering. We knocked on the door and were told that there would be a lesson from 1 to 3 that afternoon.
It was already 12.15, so that left little time for the most important business of the day: a trip to the barber. I found a tiny place squeezed between two travel agencies, and once I had established that he would use a new blade we were ready to go. After a lengthy application of hot water and foam, a month's beard was carved away expertly in only a few minutes, leaving only a tidy little moustache: an "Indian haircut", as my barber said with approval. Suffice to say that this sentiment was not universal, but the hostility was at least quiet rather than vocal (although it might have been worse without the reassurance that it was only temporary).
It was then time for our cooking class at Sangye's Kitchen; the subject of the day was Tibetan bread. With us were two German girls and one English girl; all of them young enough to make us feel rather elderly. The class was lots of fun, mostly thanks to our wonderfully friendly and enthusiastic teacher (called Sangye, as you may have guessed) who had been running these classes since he escaped from Chinese oppression in Tibet in 1999 (fleeing over the Himalayas). He spoke of Tibet with great affection and sadness, but not the anger and resentment one might expect. He said he would like to go back to see his family again but was too scared to do so.
It was already 12.15, so that left little time for the most important business of the day: a trip to the barber. I found a tiny place squeezed between two travel agencies, and once I had established that he would use a new blade we were ready to go. After a lengthy application of hot water and foam, a month's beard was carved away expertly in only a few minutes, leaving only a tidy little moustache: an "Indian haircut", as my barber said with approval. Suffice to say that this sentiment was not universal, but the hostility was at least quiet rather than vocal (although it might have been worse without the reassurance that it was only temporary).
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| Very short-lived |
We learned how to make wholemeal Tibetan bread, little savoury cookies fried in mustard oil, and some delicious steamed timo. We had a go at kneading the bread (the video below shows that I had no idea how to do this) and cutting the cookies, but our greatest contribution was in devouring the goodies once they emerged from the pan or the steamer. Not only were we given a great lesson but a tasty lunch was thrown in for good measure.
The class finished just in time for us to head up for our own teaching, the English conversation lesson. We even brought with us a new recruit, Sangye's nine-year-old daughter Nordon. We ended up spending the whole hour with her and had a great time. She was a little shy to start with, rather unsurprisingly given that she was confronted with two foreigners (one of whom was sporting a bristly 'tache), but quickly relaxed and showed us that she was bright, funny, and remarkably good at English for one so young. She had a particularly sweet way of tilting her head and opening her mouth when she didn't understand what we were saying (usually because we weren't speaking clearly enough).
At 4 pm we sent Nordon off to play with her friends and walked back up to through the village to Green for a cup of tea. On the way we passed through the main square, where we saw some Tibetan refugees holding posters of the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama (who has been a prisoner of the Chinese for the last 16 years). One man was walking up and down speaking into a microphone (in what we presumed was Tibetan). We lingered for a while to watch. One of the young men was handing out candles that had been pushed through a scrap of cardboard to protect the hand. After a fairly large crowd had gathered they moved in procession from the square down to the chorten, the Buddhist temple in the middle of the village.
At 4 pm we sent Nordon off to play with her friends and walked back up to through the village to Green for a cup of tea. On the way we passed through the main square, where we saw some Tibetan refugees holding posters of the Dalai Lama and the Panchen Lama (who has been a prisoner of the Chinese for the last 16 years). One man was walking up and down speaking into a microphone (in what we presumed was Tibetan). We lingered for a while to watch. One of the young men was handing out candles that had been pushed through a scrap of cardboard to protect the hand. After a fairly large crowd had gathered they moved in procession from the square down to the chorten, the Buddhist temple in the middle of the village.
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| Gathering with photos of the Dalai and Panchen lamas |
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| Procession towards the chorten |
We continued over to Green, on whose terrace we parked ourselves to enjoy the late afternoon sun (and make the most of their wifi). We ended up staying there all evening, transitioning seamlessly from tea to dinner, before heading back to Siddarth House for bed.
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