Last night at dinner it was decided that I would accompany Hira and Palzum in the direction of Thorung La the next morning. Knowing the ani-haru, I wouldn’t have been surprised if we’d ended up going right over Thorung La, but we only went to the bottom of the incline. Palzum carried a basket and we gathered pieces of manure (for burning).

I'd walked this route before, over the hanging bridge and beyond, but the ani-haru led me to a stone shrine which I wouldn’t have been able to find on my own. Hira attempted to express its significance, but I wasn’t able to gather much. She talked a lot about Padma Sambhava. Built a sweet-smelling fire. Ate crackers.

The Story of Helmut
Helmut came to Nepal for the first time in 1978 (the year I was born) and has been coming back every year or so since. In response to Nepal’s growing deforestation problem, he’s developed the following solution: he raises money to pay for the cost of solar cookers and donates them to Nepali villages. The villages pay only for the cost of transport. The ani-haru’s solar cooker is on the terrace. Helmut says, “Europe has the money, Nepal has the sun. So…!”

Asked Yangzum Bhuti how old she was when she became an ani. “18. Now, I 19.” She has only one sister (who works at Dragon Guest House) instead of two sisters like most of the other ani-haru. The tradition is that only middle daughters become ani-haru—but: “I wanted to—happiness to my heart falling.”

dusted with green
incense powder
her arms lift and fall

inside the gompa
voices rise to catch
the wind

The ani-haru’s troubling obsession with skin color explained—“We Muktinath, black, go Kopan, then white. White good.” I think they must mean “burnt black by the sun” when they say black—they’re not talking about race after all. The wind and sun here chaps skin mercilessly—they rub their faces and hands with cooking oil whenever can spare it—but it’s impossible to be completely protected—my nose is as red as ani-haru robes

the Nepali for sunflower: suryamukhi—“sun mouth”