I awoke the next morning to beautiful bright blue skies after a great rest at the Dolmakhangsar Guesthouse in Tawang. Dieter and Dominique had left early for a visit somewhere as had the other three Australian ladies who were staying. For my part I had a relaxed breakfast before walking down to town to take pictures of the Gompa in this radiant sunshine.


Passing a group of school children, I was greeted with the words, “good morning uncle” . “Thank you, but I am not your uncle,” I added, but one child replied in excellent English, “yes we know, but we always call old people uncle.” Ah of course, I mused.


After returning to the guesthouse, the family quickly had me standing outside on the road with some prayer flags awaiting the military convoy leaving the monastery with the relics. These relics which had been on exhibition at the Monastery for the past week. Sure enough the military were undertaking this with a presence that was quite simply overwhelming. There was an armed soldier posted every 100m along the road. I wondered whether I would be allowed to take a photo, but anyway, the convoy sped past at such speed it afforded little opportunity. A couple of open-top sumos followed crammed with monks playing trumpets. It was all quite dramatic, but very quick. All the crowd were in a religious fever as the land rover with the relics past.


After that, I decided on visiting the Gyamgong Ani Gompa Nunnery . I had yet to visit a Buddhist Nunnery and found this one interesting, especially with its location. It was perched several hundred meters further up from Tawang on a mountain side overlooking the main Tawang Monastery. It also involved quite a walk up there at this altitude, but the views would be spectacular and my guidebook mentioned there were over thirty nuns at this particular Gompa.


From the main monastery I managed to find a small dirt track where there were four quite old nuns embarking on their return trip. I hurried after them until I was overcome with a panting fit in the thin air. Unfortunately none of the nuns spoke any English, but they seemed to understand where I was going and were happy for me to follow them. All four were in their mid to late sixties, dressed in the traditional crimson monastic clothing and were quite well built. Actually as I recovered from the thin air, I found their pace a little limiting so I moved on ahead . The pathway followed a river into a small gorge, before fording it and then climbing steeply the opposite bank to the nunnery.


As I approached the Nunnery, plenty more human traffic emerged on the pathway. It was a relief to finally make it up to the Nunnery and I stood a while at the entrance breathing heavily. The Nunnery appeared quite deserted initially, but slowly as I recovered my breath, nuns and villagers emerged. I was soon invited around the back into a large cavernous kitchen for a cup of (yes) yak butter tea by several nuns. I sat on a bench next to some six or seven villagers who were donating vegetables and fruit, plus some money and pretended to enjoy the tea while the group of women and two bald nuns chatted and laughed.


It was a short but friendly visit. The Nunnery was not as old as I thought it would be, some 15 years only, and quite small with just 30 odd residents, but very friendly and worth the lung busting climb .


With that over with, I sat in the garden with Tenzing’s mother and her staff. She had three boys, of which Tenzing was the eldest and worked in the family business with his father. The middle son was a nurse at the Jiang Hospital and the youngest son was studying to be a monk in Bangalore. She also had one daughter. Tenzing was married with two children. Everyone apart from the youngest son lived in the family home. The top two floors were converted into guesthouse accommodation. There were also three live-in help girls, two sisters from the Bhutanese border and another girl from Tezpur. These three worked very hard running the house and doing most of the cooking. The eldest Bhutanese sister was an incredibly accomplished cook.


That evening we had communal dinner around the pot belly stove in the kitchen watching the home help prepare the food. The night time temperature was well below freezing and as the electricity was only on for the best part of two hours a day - the pot belly stove became the focus of the night’s social activities. It was later that night that I again met Dieter and Dominique, who were furious with the Indian military and authorities again. They told me that they had found out that the Lake District to the north of Tawang (a beautiful mountain lake area, with special Buddhist significance) was out of bounds to tourists, but not locals and Indian tourists . this was the same discrimination that affected us with the photographs. It was also irritatingly promoted by the state’s website as an excursion for all tourists from Tawang. Dieter was furious after (having paid handsomely for his permit) finding this out. I was also angry as this was one of the reasons I had come to AP.


Nevertheless, after speaking with Tenzing, I decided to visit the Gorsam Chorten Stupa in the far west of the state. The next morning I left on the 180 km round trip with Vikki, my Nepalese driver in his tiny Suzuki. When I saw the car I was concerned we might not make it, but the roads (whilst narrow) were in much better condition that those from Dirang to Tawang. Dieter & Dominique left and we arranged to meet in Kohima at the Hornbill Festival.


The scenery on my trip to the Gorsam Chorten Stupa could hardly be any more spectacular and this partially made up for the Lake District disappointment. This area was hardly visited by foreigners which was a great shame as, if anything it was even better than what I had seen after crossing the Sela Pass two days earlier. At the beginning we dropped down to almost the bottom of the Tawang Valley, and begun to follow the river along the valley floor to the Bhutanese border. On reaching Lamah, a stunning hill top town at the entrance to the Tawang valley overlooking Bhutan, we swung north towards Jimithang following a tributary river with its huge cascading waterfalls falling from towering escarpments, until we reached this gigantic Stupa in the corner of the borders between China, Bhutan and India.


The stupa was deserted and bathed in harsh altitude sunlight that gave my camera really sunlight trouble. I was able to wander around unmolested and under the solitary gaze of one bored Indian army soldier. It was great and well worth the four hours to reach the place. The return journey was equally spectacular as the sunset lent a brilliant orange hue to the traditional stone square Monpa buildings.


The next day I again hired Vikki for a trip down into the valley to Khimey Monastery on Dieter’s recommendation. He and Dominique had spent several hours there previously watching monk cricket, looking at the artwork and enjoying the ambiance. Dieter reckoned it was the perfect antidote to the discrimination we had all faced from the local government and the army in AP.


Khimey was half way between the valley floor and Tawang city and was a monastic order from a smaller sect. The monastery was relatively new again - only 12 years, but the paintings and artwork that Dieter had recommended were very good. I walked around for while before I met the Lama, Namchak Dorj. He was actually a Khenpo (an Abbott) from Bhutan who had been invited to Khimey to instruct the monks. He was also incredibly young for an Abbott (32) and very interesting.


He had completed a PhD in Buddhist Theology at a very young age and was in great demand as a teacher. He had also a strong affinity for the Monpa culture and was translating Tibetan texts (which the locals did not understand) on the local history and he hoped to publish these texts as a book. I hope that I can help him with this endeavor if I can. He is Bhutanese and joined this monastic order at five years old. Now he has his own monastery in Bhutan near the Stupa I visited. He also spoke English, Bhutanese, Monpanese, Nepalese, Tibetan and Hindi.


We talked for several hours over cups of tea and a glass of sprite. I hope we will remain in contact (and I can now report that we have). I asked Vikki to drop me at Tenzing’s shop and I walked back to the guesthouse through the town, past the cafe Dieter had recommended, where I had a good Chai and then past the shops where I bought a new winter jacket.


As the sun dropped below the monastery I arrived back at the guesthouse where I settled down to an evening next to the stove in the kitchen with the family. I was now the only one left at the guesthouse. The next morning I was up early at 5.00am and straight around to the Monastery to witness morning prayers. However as I arrived in the courtyard (where I had been barred from using my camera several days ago) there was absolutely no activity. I wandered around in the morning early sunshine trying to find someone, but with no luck and was about to leave when I notice two small monks in their crimson cloaks playing a game (like ‘It’) in a quiet corner. Soon I was inundated with young monks all under 12 years running from the main library and lining up in the courtyard (for breakfast I soon discovered). Just let out of early morning classes at just after 5.30am they were all in playful mood and boisterous and it made for an engaging site. Soon elder monks brought the breakfast and it was dished out to all and everyone disappeared. I finally had some photos I was pleased with.


After breakfast, I met with Tenzing’s mother who had kindly offered to be my guide for the day. Vikki soon arrived in his battered Suzuki and we sped off down the mountainside to the river at the foot of Tawang’s mountain to visit the little known, Iron Tibetan bridge. This was built around 600 years ago by a famous Tibetan engineer who constructed some 50 bridges in and around Tibet in the 15th and 16th century. It was the Abbot who told me about this bridge. Namchak had come across this in his research on the local history and it was, as far as he knew, one of the oldest iron chain bridges in this part of the world. It was not in any of the guidebooks or the tourist literature from the local government, so I was the only one there, and it was peaceful and very interesting. The six original iron chains remained, fixed into two huts on each side of the river and secured in stone blocks. It had been continually reinvented, the last time with chicken wire and planks of wood, until the local government built a new bridge adjacent to this one. However it still retained an aura and was visibly impressive. Walking across it was nerve racking above the rapids.


Afterwards we dropped in on Tenzing mother’s friend in a local village who prepared us a lunch with some of her delicious red rice, probably the best rice I have ever sampled. She also showed me her giant pumpkin patch and kiwi fruit orchard (somewhat different to the Contessa’s in Bardolino). We also walked through a rice growing village, met some more of her friends, suffered some more yak butter tea in a traditional wooden kitchen with a huge fire place which belched out so much smoke so I could not see my hosts. Everyone was so welcoming and Tenzing's Mum ensured I saw everything in the houses and in the family’s fields, including their rice paddies, their hay stores, their strange way of growing green beans (up flag poles) and their yak butter tea production.


We visited a small holy Buddhist temple on the way back to Tawang. Here the 6th Dali Lama had planted three trees when he left the Monpa region and said that when one died he would return. One tree died in the 1950s just as the current Dalai Lama escaped the Chinese invasion of Tibet and arrived in Monpa land. This site has now become a hugely important pilgrimage area and the remaining two trees were decorated with many prayer flags. Again this was not mentioned in the guide books or the local literature.


We finished up this excellent day with a visit to her mother’s house (for some back tea - thank goodness) and then her sister’s before returning to the guesthouse.


It was a shame to leave Tawang. After a fraught beginning I really enjoyed my self and the area and especially Tenzing, his family and his guesthouse.