We pitched tents on a hillside next to a flowing aqueduct of clear water, setting our horses free to graze and water. Even before we had time to settle in, Tibetan monks, townsfolk, and children began to gather. Steve held court with them, the white man chattering away in the Tibetan tongue, launching into lively discussions of Buddhist tradition and scripture. Prayer flags marked the tops of certain peaks surrounding the town. Tibetans don't bury their dead, I was told, but instead, carry the corpses to a mountaintop and carve them up to a sky burial.
Vultures descend from the heavens and carry their loved ones away.
Buddhists believe that we are reborn into another life. In the case of monks who reach a high state of spirituality, they buried him. Seventeen years later his body was exhumed and found to be perfectly intact. This was a sign that he had reached Nirvana, a state of grace. We witnessed this most holy relic, housed in a glass stupa.