When we arrive, the Lama is inside chanting sutras, but his attendant sits outside, still cutting and sorting the small store of potatoes; he is an aspirant monk, or trapa, whose clear gaze makes him look much younger than he is. His name is Takla, he is twenty-two years old, and he comes from the great northern plain of Tibet. On the sunny ledge, under the bright blue window of the gompa, we listen to the murmurs of the Lama and contemplate the prospect of the snows.
