Karakul Milk Tea

“Why are we doing this, it’s FREEZING!”, I whinged at Sam’s back. She kept walking, ignoring me. She was right. We were two solitary figures standing at the edge of Karakul, the highest lake on the Pamir Plateau. Ash-grey glaciers, sheer slate and snow-topped mountains rimmed the lake’s edge, looming over us. Dagger-like peaks pierced the clearest blue sky. Smooth, celadon-green water threw a perfect reflection, and I felt like we’d stepped into a Magic Eye picture. Each breath was a mouthful of razor blades, crisp, clean and sharp. Two days ago I was in the south of China, in the filthy factory-belt. Karakul’s thin, unpolluted air was a welcome shock to the system. Scruffy grass balded on the muddy ground. The only other visible life was yaks - sturdy, solid animals able to survive this harsh environment. Humans cannot live here year-round. Even the family whose yurt we were staying in moved to Kashgar in the frigid winter. It was spectacular, and I was grumbling about the cold.
We reached a small settlement. A few small, stone houses sitting on rocky ground. A child was waiting for us, he’d seen us coming. When we were close enough, he erupted, “hello, hello, hello”! “Hello!” we replied, trying hard to match his enthusiasm. He laughed, and signalled to us to follow, down a dusty path to a small house – nothing more than two small rooms. One was storeroom and pantry; the family lived in the larger of the two. A bed, a basin, two chairs and a shelf centred around a coal burner, the source of the family’s food, and heat. His mother ushered us in, urging we sit as she set to making yak’s milk tea. I looked to Sam, trying to communicate with my eyes: should we sit and drink tea? These people have nothing, can we accept anything? Is this a scam? Typical travelling consternations. But it was too late to leave now. We drank the sour brew, and snacked on stale crusts of bread, softened by dunking. Warm and comforting, my muscles relaxed and I felt fortified for the cold walk back. With some basic words and vigorous gesture, we learnt a little of this woman’s life. The child was the youngest of three sons. The elder two and their father were in a nearby town with a market. Whatever they sold provided a basic income for the family, but our gesturing was not up to deciphering what exactly it was. As we got up to leave, she made the unmistakeable gesture for money. I had feared it earlier, but I felt no resentment now. This woman and her family had to survive.