Butter Tea and Momos
by Whitney Stewart
from Highlights for Children, July-August 1992, pg. 36-37.

High in the Himalayan Mountains, a piece of my happy heart landed on a ridge below Everest-the tallest mountain in the world. And there it has been ever since. Something about the piercing cry of the Himalayan crow in the sky, swooping and diving over a mountain village; something about the uneven ringing of the yak's bell as the animal grazes on a barren slope; and something about the singing and generous smiles of the Tibetan people pull my mind back to the Tibetans and to life in the Himalayan mountains.

Tibetan life is slower, maybe more thoughtful than my own. People seldom rush down a village path. Instead they stop to rest, to think, or to talk to friends. This life-style, so unfamiliar to me, drew me toward it. I found my way to a small Tibetan refugee village in the Indian Himalayas-a twelve hour bus ride northeast from New Delhi, the capital of India. In this village, called Dharamsala, I met a Tibetan family who took me into their home and encouraged me to write about Tibetan life. This family, like all of the refugee families in Dharamsala, cannot return to Tibet, which has been invaded and occupied by Chinese forces. Tibetan families make a new life in exile.

Choegyal-the eight-year-old boy in the family- and his mother, Angu, were my first teachers of Tibetan culture. Once, I ran to them to ask why so many elderly Tibetans stuck their tongues out at me when I walked along the temple path. I was hurt. What had I done to offend these people? Angu and Choegyal cracked up with laughter. I stared at them, speechless. Then, in a quiet way, Angu explained, that Tibetans are making a gesture of respectful greeting when they stick out their tongues slightly. Oh, I thought to myself. I had so much to learn.

One custom was difficult at first. Tibetans must drink at least three cups of butter tea when they visit others. Angu and Choegyal told me that if I took only two cups, I would offend my hosts. Luckily for me, I love tea. Angu brewed tea several times a day, boiling strong black tea leaves from India and blending in rich milk and butter. She kept it warm in thermoses, ready for any occasion. Some Tibetans claim to drink at least forty cups a day. I remember one day when I visited seven different families. That meant twenty-one cups of the thick, buttery drink. I sloshed my way home.

In Dharamsala, warmth is hard to find during the cold Himalayan autumn and winter. Tibetan families live in homes made of concrete, wood, and scrap metal. The houses are drafty, and most are without running hot water or heat. No wonder they drink so much tea-a good way to keep warm.

On frigid days in Dharamsala, Angu lent me a thick wool sweater that she had knit, and wrapped my waist in a soft Indian blanket. We sat close together on benches covered with square Tibetan rugs and ate our meals of tsampa (ground barley), tukpa (Tibetan noodle soup), and momos (dumplings filled with yak meat, mutton, or vegetables). Choegyal cheered whenever his mother prepared his favorite meal of grilled chicken, Indian style.

When I wasn't huddled up for a meal, I walked to the town bazaar and watched women in their long dresses (chubas) buying small potatoes, onions, and roasted barley flour. I passed Indian beggars, and threw coins into their waiting pots. Choegyal and his school friends often hurried up to me in greeting and asked me to watch them play cricket in the streets. Sometimes I smiled gently when cows meandered down the middle of the narrow street and toppled over Choegyal's game.

Searching for the right path and circling the main temple clockwise, I often met up with pilgrims who looked lost in prayer. Sounds of monks praying aloud drifted over the mountain ridges and I felt wrapped in some kind of protective cloud. I heard the echoes of the deep, throaty chanting, patterned drum beating, and shattering cymbals-the music of Tibetan monks as they recited their prayers. Behind thick wooden doors, beyond golden curtains, monks sat cross-legged on orange cushions. Wrapped in maroon cloaks, the assembly prayed for the benefit of all beings.