Sri Lanka

After some fabulous cultural exploration in rural India, visiting friends, watching the colorful festival in Vashist among pulsing drumming and swishing deities, shopping the mayhem of Delhi, and henna-ing our hands, I hopped on a plane to Sri Lanka, formerly called Ceylon. The heat hit me like a tidal wave, bad joke in these times, although a bit too cliché.

I surveyed the zillion taxi driver faces, looking for eyes I could trust, and settled a deal with Shan, Kishmal and Shamin. We zoomed into the night, stopping only for milk sweet tea and egg rottis – a flour type pancake with an egg cooked in the middle smothered with chili gravy. It was the starting day of the Singalese New Year, and all night long we encountered parties with hundreds of villagers celebrating all night long at big lighted dance parties in the middle of nowhere in the jungle. After a hectic rattletrap 10 hour “taxi” ride that I nicknamed the blender, with many military checkpoints to prevent movement of the Tamil Tigers – the latest upsurge against the government, we all arrived in Arguam Bay, a sleepy little town on the East coast. Prices are a travelers dream, with lodging going for 5 bucks, meals for one or two, and tuk tuk rides for 20 cents. There are almost no cars here, and people hook a line onto the live electric power lines to turn on their lights.

The water is turquoise blue, penned against white sand and fishing boats painted the colors of the crayola box. Men wear tubes of fabric wrapped into skirts, never to realize the potential of wrap skirt failure most women know all to well. At first I thought that many women and children were killed or moved from the tsunami, but soon realized that I was in a Muslim town and most were inside closed doors and behind tinted glass. I hear them chattering everyday, and sometimes get a rare sighting and occasionally can exchange some smiles and hellos. Most of Sri Lanka is Buddhist, with some Hindis and some Christians, and Muslims in the East where I am located. One of the hardest parts of the culture is the staring of the men – it is not concealed or subtle – it is blatent and raw. We women think it is the repressed sexuality of the culture – men and women hardly ever interact, and I may go a whole day without seeing a woman. I understand that I am not one to judge, and if anything I am not the one obeying their laws – hence the looks, but it is still hard. At first I hated my green cloud patterned glass on my bungalow’s windows, but now find it a haven from they eyes and crave the solitude. Walking down the street is quite and undertaking, even when I try to cover my self from head to toe.

First person I met on the beach was an old friend of a friend who I met in Rossland, BC Canada. Such a small world. He had just been working in Gulmarg, Kashmir, helping train the ski patrol there, along with an old friend from my hometown, Kip Garre.
Surf has been a bit rough- the reef has been chewing me up, bit by bit. Each day a new small hunk of flesh gets left behind. The wave is pretty hollow in spots, much what I have pictured Indo to look like, and my skills have a bit to go to handle the speed. I have met wonderful folks, as one usually does traveling alone.

Everyday you hear a new story of the tsunami. Who lost whom and how, where they clung to a tree and how far inland they were swept. Hard losses, and evidence is everywhere – in fact it looks more like it happened four months ago, and not a year and four months ago. The NGO presence is everywhere – with both positive and negative stories to tell. I’m impressed with the amount of people still here volunteering their skills away trying to help the cause. Rumor has it that the government has issued a stipend to each individual, thereby creating a bit of a disincentive to head back to work. Everyday my hotel owner, Dean, is super frustrated when the workers don’t show up again, and the same problem is happening around other job sites. Not sure if that is really the issue, as have not been able to back up that suggestion.

For my birthday, I was invited to the Beach Hut for Dinner with my three new good Kiwi and Aussi friends, and were joined by twenty others. The meal was culminated with a parade of local drummers marching around the long table with a banana cake. Such a nice relief from the dreaded out of tune “Happy Birthday” song.

Yesterday we went on the ultimate “surf safari” – strapping the tuk tuk down with our surf boards and zig zagging through the bush, stopping to photograph elephants, peacocks, flamingos, and herons along the way. All for five bucks or 500 rupees for all three of us. Gotta love the third world.

Not sure if you all heard of the bomb yesterday in the Capitol of Columbo. A woman walked into the army headquarters and blew herself up. And the military launched two missiles to the resistance area to the way north. Norway had helped broker the latest peace deal between the LTTE Tamils and the Singalese and Muslims in 2002, but apparently the government has not upheld their part of the bargain, or so it seems. I am in a peaceful area, not to worry, but tensions are tight here.

The food is to dye for – Pot Sambol abounds – grated coconut with chili and spices adorns most everything. Every form of Rotti you can imagine- curry, vegetable, banana coconut, egg, cheese, fish, meat, etc. And they are swirled, rolled, chopped, triangled, square- you name it. Quite the staple. During breakfast of string hoppers with dhal and fish curry, I watched a team of oxen pulling a wooden cart that looked like it was straight out of Jesus from Nazareth. And attached to the back they were dragging a manta ray down the street. Ummmmm, dinner.

Teaching Indian Girls to Ski

The snow transformed itself this week - winter turned to spring overnight and we went from skiing chugatch powder to colorado corn. My co-guide Jamie and I planned some tours to see as many valley's as possible each day- and cheating again with an addditional heli lift in the middle of each day to change scenery and pop up again to 16,000 feet. Scott Smith and Lynsey Dyer and I have been shooting photos for Powder Mag and Patagonia on the fly, and we have also been able to get some great shots of our amazing clients - Kendra Vehik, Mark Campione, Launce Gouw, and Matt Shive. They will be stars soon!

After the gang left, we shifted gears to my new project - teaching Indian girls to ski. My friend Chuni hooked me up with Dicky Dolma, the youngest woman to climb Everest and Indian Skiing Champion. I spent hours interviewing her about her life and challenges of being a woman in India. She certainly has broken many barriers that traditional women bear everyday. On our drive up to Gulmarg to work with four young indian girls, she marched out to argue with 50 Indian men who would not let us pass further due to the Taxi Union problem. She, of course, got her way. She said that her success has really given her more confidence and power in herself. I sure feel the same about my skiing and climbing.



Teaching skiing in the Himalaya...



Shalka, Jasmine, Kirna and Shivani, ranging in age between 9-12, were stoked to go skiing with Dicki, Lynsey and I. As there are no lifts, we drove an hour to snow and the Indian circus that exists on the way to Rhotang pass. We trooped up the hill to go sledding and inner tubing first, then broke trail up to flatter snow and a place to teach. The girls were all smiles in their Patagonia coats and our too-big Garmonts and Head Sweet Fat Thangs. I watched some of the more timid ones grow taller with the attention and confidence.

Dicki and I are making big plans to arrange gear sponsorship for our newly formed Hadimba Himalaya Girls Ski Club. She also hopes to come visit me in the states and do some guide training, and I can't wait to get back to Manali and ski with the girls.

Powder Magazine in India

Best touring day yet! Landed at 4,400meters on My Turn, took an hour long run with our new arrivals – Lynsey Dyer from Jackson, Wyoming and Photographer Scott Smith from Colorado. They had just survived a 15 hr car race from Delhi to Manali that words cannot describe. Let me just say, I have barely recovered from the same experience from 2001. I definitely used up 7 lives of mine on that day years ago. They had missed the luxury flight from Delhi and had no other way to get here in time. pigs, trucks, yaks, cars, horns, chickens, sacred cows mixed together like a video game gone haywire.

We then hopped a ride on Jerry’s helicopter, which happened to be in the area on a Brazilian Snowboard film shoot, landing on McNaughty’s for another 4,000 foot run. We then toured and ski-mountaineered across to Setham Dome, which is the sight of the proposed new Indian ski resort, the controversial one that Henry Ford’s grandson is involved in. 4,800 feet of corn awaited us, after we departed the gompa and colorful prayer flags at the summit.

Lynsey and Scott are here to do a story with me for Powder Magazine on Punjab Pioneers. I am researching women who have climbed and skied in the Indian Himalayas over recorded history. Fanny Bullock Workman was one of the first on paper – 1899-1906 she explored, climbed and mapped many peaks and valleys in India. A few days ago, I was honored to meet Dicky Dolma, the youngest woman ever to climb Everest and also the former Indian National Ski Champion. She proudly showed off her many medals and explained how her success has inspired many Indian girls to ski and climb. She now instructs at the Indian Mountaineering Institute, in Manali. We are planning to get together on Saturday with a bunch of her students and do a team teaching day up towards Rhotang Pass.

My latest idea is to start providing Dicky and her students with ski gear from the United States, and to possibly start a girls ski club. I’m planning on leaving my Karhu Jil’s, Head Sweet Fat Thangs, Dynafit Binders, some Patagonia clothing and 2 pairs of Garmont boots with the girls.

Himalayan Powder Heli touring

Hello again from Manali, India. Heli-touring reached a whole new level this week, as we were finally acclimatized and able to access the goods. On Wednesday, we flew to Monkey Business at 4,600 meters, skied 3,000 feet of steep powder, then cheated and grabbed the heli for a lift to 5,000 meters on Durga (about 16,600ft). The swiss pilots and Lama choppers really spoil us rotten! Durga delivered the best snow yet of the trip, about 4,500 feet of Alaska style bliss, and we whooped and hollered all the way down. My new orange Casio camera captured some sweet videos – I was even able to hold the camera along with my ski pole and film helmet cam style while skiing. We then toured for three hours back up to 4400meters to end the day with one more long run. The chopper awaited us at the base of 20,000 foot Deo Tibba.

On Friday, we headed west instead of east, into the Talipat drainage. Landing at 4,800 meters or about 16,000 feet, we were able to see across the Manali valley and Beas River to all the runs we had skied and toured earlier in the week. We divided into two groups – one for a big circuit tour and another for a short tour to a long descent. Altitude was taking its toll on a few folks with headaches and nausea. We skied 4,000 feet of corn while the sporty group toured into the Kalihan valley and then to Happy Landings while we flew the heli back to the posh Span Resort. Our pilot Jerry, happily accommodated our request for some hammerheads – pegging the chopper vertically until it falls from the sky, along with your stomach. Landing at 5,000 feet on our grassy lawn amist the tulips, daffodils and crocuses can’t help but make anyone smile. Nirvana is then obtained with fresh limade brought on a silver tray, while your boots are whisked away to be dried and your skis to be waxed.

Indian Himalayas

Hello from India!
Hard to believe, but I’m here in the Himalayas, skiing my heart out. Spring is here at the Span Resort, with tulips blooming and the helicopter on the lawn in front of the river surrounded by spiky 20,000 foot powder runs. I have been guiding a group of ten, heli-ski touring for the next week, then another group of six, including a story for Powder magazine Lynsey Dyer starting this Saturday. Today we were able to land at 5,000 meters, or 16,600 feet with the chopper! We got two runs via heli before ski touring uphill for the day. Every ski tour should start with 7,000 vert downhill of powder.

The life here at Himachal is swank – 4 star rooms – with seemingly 10 servants for whatever you aspire to do- whether a cup of tea, run for whiskey in town, drying your boots or waxing your skis. Hard to imagine doing anything for yourself after a bit.

The snow line is quite high, making runs from the hotel a bit of a challenge, so we have been heli-ing in and out for the day to make things easier. The best part of India is the cultural exchange, whether it be the spring festival in Patchnicol last night or driving to the Roduphu pass for a ski with almost every Indian who has never seen snow before. Rossi 7S’s from the 90s seem to be most modern, with pink Salomon rear entry boots tied with yellow twine the latest ski boot fashion. They do not teach skiing per se, as they just push folks with ski gear on, usually with rubber boots inside the ski boots, until they crash. Jaws dropped as we popped over the horizon arcing turns in the corn down to the Masala tea stand.

Well, gotta run. Went to a festival and got suckered into a cup of “tea” at a friends house. Ended up dancing and drinking whiskey all night at a local’s house, much to most indian’s amusement. My bangles were a hit, and I’m much better off gyrating to plastic whiny India music than trying to keep up with African dance.