Lobsang's tales

Adapted by Joel Schone, 1999

Lobsang, our Ladakh trek sirdar, is a great guide and also entertaining. From a Tibetan trading family, his wages are normally gone within an hour or two on schemes to make more and to support his family. His garb changes from year to year. In 1999, he trekked in a leather biker jacket, and carried a ski pole, alloy bottle from a Swiss group and Oakley shades from previous group. By 2000 they were gone, sold in the jobless winter months. By the end of our trek he had a Gore-Tex jacket, wicking t-shirts, two fleece jackets, a down vest, Merrill boots, a 90 litre Lowe alpine sack (not fake) but by the end of the second trek he had lost one fleece and acquired a huge fur Tibetan hat. Last seen, he had a brand new Indian army down jacket he was going to trade, and a huge mess tent under his arm...

Jump

That night Lobo met an old army friend and of course the Chang came out as they told me about guerilla excursions into Tibet and their American instructors and their special training. They had been offered more money if they agreed to extra training, so they did. Lobsang and his mates found it all odd, as the training seemed to consist of jumping off ladders, then higher ladders, then from the back of a moving truck. The tuition was in English by the US trainers, with translation into Hindi, but no Tibetan. Finally they were issued all sorts of straps and packs and taken out to an aircraft, circling as it gained altitude. 'Where are we going?' Lobsang friend asked. Down the side opposite of them, the female soldiers cried and prayed 'Om mani padme hum, om mani padme hum.' The Tibetan women spoke better English than us, Lobsang added... Then the American told them all to stand up, pointing to a red light, saying when it turned green they should run towards it run, Lobsang asked, 'where to?' Then the light went green and then ran towards it and as he fell into space he understood...

That night they had free rum and Lobsang ceased to be teetotaller. !

Joel gets lost

That day Lobsang told me to keep to the valley floor for 2 hours, and then climb to a high camp on the right. Pleased to be alone in this huge valley, I had soon let the others get ahead, my walkman all the company I needed. Lunch came and went and I carried on, and then it was mid afternoon and still no sign of a camp, and I decided he had his times wrong, and carried on. Then it was 5pm and getting cold, and here I was with just a shell jacket and a bottle of water, 15,000 feet and getting dark. They had gone high, I had gone on. Nothing for it but to turn back, into the dark, looking for someplace to curl up as the sun went and the stars came out. By 9pm it was obvious I had better stop or miss the camp in the dark, then I saw the torches, Lobsang coming down to meet me, shaking his head with his giggle, as he related his story. By five he had been worried so had gone to the main trail, and seen my foot and trekking pole prints, gone back to camp, packed the tent, sleeping bag, food, flask of tea and set out into the night to find the idiot. Tent up, he set off back the campsite, still hours away, and next morning I woke up to the sound of the cooker. He had walked down to me and now had breakfast on the go. For $10 a day would I have done the same?

Deal, deal

And everywhere Lobsang has friends. A big jeep to Leh, 25,000 rupees? No, 17,000 rupees for him. One time, though, I thought this compulsive shopper had met his match as he bargained for and purchased a hideous Chinese nylon carpet in vivid pink. Next day we ran into some nomads who wanted to sell a Swiss altimeter they had 'found' and Lobsang took over negotiations. I offered 2500 rupees, which I passed to Lobo, better he dealt with this. Half an hour later he was back, that giggle again, altimeter in hand. Deal done, 1000Rs plus the carpet from hell, and Lobsang is up 1500Rs.

Psst, boots?

For glacier fighting Indian army officers wear good white Koflach plastic boots, and I asked if we would get a pair for me. That night in Nubra, as we sat in a scruffy momo shack, they appeared, perfect size, and surrounded by Tibetan truck drivers, I tried one on, walking around the room. I was about to try the other, when the curtain parted and in walked two tall Indian Army MPs (Military Police), at which I hurriedly sat down and shoved my booted foot out of sight under the charpoy. Great, caught white-footed buying Indian Army black market boots, how many years would I get? The Indians sat down and began the normal Indian male game of how long can we make polite conversation, before we can get down to what we really want to know, ie do all western women sleep around? As we chatted Lobsang told the Tibetan truck drivers why I had gone a funny colour, and they began laughing about it - typical Tibetan sense of humour. Then one of the Indian soldiers spotted the trekking boot I had taken off and put on the table, picked it up and asked me if it was mine. Yes, I said, the other one had been stolen, I was trying to sell it. Was he interested? The Tibetans exploded with muffled laughter and the redcaps finished their momos and left. Phew.

Why are you called Baralacha?

We're in a juddering local bus crawling over the Baralacha La in a snowstorm in Northern India, and a tiny woman who looked no more then 15 started screaming up in the cab. Confusion, the driver trying to concentrate on the road, and Lobsang is asking me for my torch, then is in the swaying cab, coming back moments later with that giggle, 'woman having baby', and he is up on the roof, getting a clean towel, water, needle, then talking to the Indian Army nurse who is sitting at the back refusing to have anything to do with it, cajoling her to the cab. The driver finally pulls over, and the baby is born as Lobsang gets other Tibetans to tear threads from their katas (prayer scarves) to sew her up, borrowing hats and blankets to keep the baby warm, and as the bus pulls away, he giggles and turns to me "baby called Baralacha".