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By Yangzom Brauen

A robust, emotional memoir and a rare portrait of 3 generations of Tibetan ladies whose lives are without end replaced whilst Chairman Mao's purple military crushes Tibetan independence, sending a tender mom and her six-year-old daughter on a treacherous trip around the snowy Himalayas towards freedom

Kunsang concept she might by no means depart Tibet. one of many country's youngest Buddhist nuns, she grew up in a distant mountain village the place, as undefined, she entered the neighborhood nunnery. although uncomplicated, Kunsang's lifestyles gave her all she wanted: a oneness with nature and a feeling of the non secular in all issues. She married a monk, had young ones, and lived in peace and prayer. yet no longer for lengthy. there has been a asserting in Tibet: "When the iron fowl flies and horses run on wheels, the Tibetan humans could be scattered like ants around the face of the earth." The chinese language invasion of Tibet in 1950 replaced every little thing. whilst infantrymen arrived at her mountain monastery, destroying every thing of their direction, Kunsang and her kinfolk fled around the Himalayas purely to spend years in Indian refugee camps. She misplaced either her husband and her youngest baby on that trip, however the destiny held a rare flip of occasions that may endlessly switch her life--the arrival within the refugee camps of a classy younger Swiss guy lengthy enthusiastic about Tibet. Martin Brauen will fall immediately in love with Kunsang's younger daughter, Sonam, ultimately profitable her center and hand, and taking mom and daughter with him to Switzerland, the place Yangzom should be born.

Many tales lie hidden until eventually the perfect individual arrives to inform them. In rescuing the tale of her now 90-year-old inspirational grandmother and her mom, Yangzom Brauen has given us a e-book packed with love, braveness, and triumph,as good as permitting us a unprecedented and shiny glimpse of lifestyles in rural Tibet prior to the arriving of the chinese language. most significantly, notwithstanding, ACROSS MANY MOUNTAINS is a testomony to 3 robust, made up our minds girls who're associated by way of an unbreakable family members bond.

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She had a visceral experience that she and her escaped compatriots had failed; what used to be the purpose of all their protests opposed to the career of Tibet, their many campaigns within which she usually took half in Switzerland? The Potala, the center of the rustic, had develop into an insignificant vacationer allure. Sonam felt she had no longer performed adequate for her place of origin. have been she and all her fellow exiles a ways too preoccupied with themselves and their very own difficulties and too little with the rustic that used to be the resource in their tradition, even their lifestyles? but how a lot sadder my mom could were if Lhasa have been because it is now—an nearly completely chinese language urban composed of lifeless tower blocks, vivid neon ads, numerous vacationer resorts, and chinese language bars whole with prostitutes. It’s a hellish hubbub of roaring, stinking site visitors, the streets spilling over with chinese language infantrymen, passersby, travelers, and employees. again TO PANG My kinfolk had come to Tibet at the start to go to Pang, the village the place such a lot of our kinfolk lived. there have been no cross-country taxis or apartment automobiles in Tibet at the moment, so my mom and dad needed to constitution a whole bus to take us there. once we had left Lhasa, the realm started to dance and prance. the line appeared composed completely of hills and holes and stones. We hung on tightly to the poles within the bus, grabbed carry of Amala, pressed ourselves opposed to Pala, and clung to Mola, bouncing opposed to one another at each flip. We drove along rivers that roared so loudly lets pay attention them over the damn and clattering of our bus. We drove via extensive valleys and throughout steppes and stone and sand, recognizing the airborne dirt and dust trails of vans and columns of yaks prior to us, abandoning us our personal clouds of dirt. The solar used to be sizzling; all of the home windows have been wound down. We wore respiring mask that have been quickly as grey as our dermis, our hair, and our outfits. For my mom, it used to be a bittersweet trip via a panorama she had final obvious 1 / 4 of a century in the past. This panorama reminded her of lengthy, excruciating evening treks, chilly, starvation, actual and emotional exhaustion, and relentless worry. She spent the journey staring out of the home windows, particularly over the last a part of the adventure. “Look! ” she referred to as out because the bus descended into one other valley. “That’s the place we walked, i do know we did. The river was once by way of our part each day. i used to be surprised how a long way a river may possibly circulation. ” Mola, too, was once glued to the window. “There weren’t any roads,” she acknowledged, extra to herself than to us. “We needed to stroll throughout fields or alongside herdsmen’s paths. ” She grew progressively more quiet as an excellent sorrow welled up inside of her. This had as soon as been her state, the rustic of her youth, and now she used to be riding via it like a vacationer. Pala used to be busy taking pictures to record our journey. Mola quickly looked as if it would become bored in viewing the websites in their former trek. With stoic calm, she slipped her mala beads in the course of the hands of her left hand, one by one, until eventually she had labored her approach throughout the whole chain of 108 beads.

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