12“Do you hear bells?” said Mom.
“It’s all in your head,” I teased her.
A caravan of men and yaks walked towards us. Mom took out her camera and began to film as they approached. The longhaired, cow-like creatures were decorated with ribbons and bells and over-burdened with heavy loads. The men had long hair too, braided, with red ribbons woven in.
Nima came up behind us, dropped his load and ran to hug what appeared to be his relatives. They all patted each other’s backs and laughed, speaking excitedly in Tibetan.
“What are they carrying?” I asked Lama.
“Salt to trade with,” he answered. “Salt goes down the mountain, supplies come back up.”
All at once, the whole caravan turned toward us and broke out into laughter. I didn’t know what was so funny, but I joined in, giggling without
