The Plan, Part 4: Barely in Bodhkharboo

It only took five days longer than expected, due to snow storms, but eventually we made it to Bodhkharboo.  Only problem: more snow was forecasted throughout the region, from Kargil to Leh (Bodhkharboo is in between them), so the decision to stay was long and arduous, with multiple incarnations of stay and go proposed.

Ultimately, at the request of the General Secretary/President of the Kargil Ice and Snow Sports (KISS) I agreed to stay for two days, as he guaranteed that the weather would hold to get me back to Leh in time to continue my adventure.  He is a very determined man, so it doesn’t surprise me that he would promise something he can’t control. 

The next morning, the rest of my group agreed to stay as well, which included Paul and the two girls from mainland India that were also volunteers at SECMOL and had the fortunate/unfortunate (depending on point of view) opportunity to be my stand-in translators.  Alex had made it out of Drass just before the storm hit, so he could not join us in Bodhkharboo.  His support on the ice and behind the camera was invaluable.  I look forward to sharing more experiences like this with him in the future.

From the outset, there were supposed to be seven days in Bodhkharboo.  At the conclusion of that camp, I was debating heading to Dhomkhar, but scrapped that plan when it became apparent that 1) the “Under-16” players from Dhomkhar were not actually under 16 (it has since been learned that they are reasonably open about the fact that they cheated, although I’m not sure they consider what they did cheating), and 2) they won the Under-16 tournament in Leh.  My goal in Ladakh is to help the players that need it most, but also reward the players that show integrity in their actions.  Our tour around Ladakh was decently publicized in newspapers and radio around the region, so I hope the players in Dhomkhar are aware that they were purposefully ignored in our hockey clinics this winter.  When it gets announced next year that we are returning, I hope that they request our support so we can explain why we didn’t give it this winter.

After the scheduled hockey camp in Bodhkharboo, the region quickly warms up to the point where it’s nearly impossible to skate.  Bodhkharboo is close to Chiktan, where I participated in a tournament two years prior.  I loved the scenery and the people in this town, but the ice quality was terrible two years ago (it was like walking on broken glass in ice skates), and was even worse this winter.  As a result, the camp was hosted in a town that had never played ice hockey before.

Before our arrival in Bodhkharboo the Kargil Ice & Snow Sports Club hosted a learn to skate program that was run by Stanzin Dolkar, a Ladakhi woman that was featured in a documentary Thin Ice, that focused on a particular controversy surrounding women’s hockey in Ladakh, and the girls at SECMOL.  Having spent enough time around people involved in this controversy, I will spare you any more details and depositions and let you see the documentary on your own and go from there. 

Stanzin Dolkar has had a particularly unique life for a Ladakhi. She’s well-traveled, having gone to Sweden for the documentary, Finland for an IIHF training on behalf of India, and Malaysia to participate in hockey training on behalf of India as well.  She’s got a firey personality, is quick on the sarcasm, and has a big laugh that can make anybody with half a heart smile.  She’s got a toughness that many Ladakhis, let alone Ladakhi women, lack.  As a core ideal of The Hockey Foundation, toughness is a quality that’s important on the ice and in life, and to see someone like Stanzin Dolkar have that quality is refreshing and gives me hope that we can continue to make progress with the rest of Ladakh.  The goal isn’t to tell them how to live their lives, nor is it to change their culture.  On the contrary.  The goal is to help them strengthen their culture and quality of living, on their terms.  Ladakh was closed off from the world for most of their history, and the recent modernization has started to eat away at Ladakhi culture, not just Ladakhi tradition.  Local politicians have started saying the same thing, that Ladakh is losing its tradition on its own.  The foreigners that come to Ladakh come because it has a deep tradition that has remained consistent for centuries, if not 1000 years.  They don’t come to modernize Ladakh.  It’s the ruggedness and tradition that is appealing, and although Ladakh is moderning, it is far from modern.

Stanzin Dolkar hasn’t been involved in hockey in Leh as a result of the Thin Ice controversy.  The opportunities in hockey have been given to her by the Ice Hockey Association of India and the Kargil Ice and Snow Sports Club.  It’s unfortunate.  She has so much to offer the hockey players around Leh.  Hopefully things can progress to a point where bygones are bygones and everybody can get back to focusing on the improvement of hockey and the betterment of the children.

Stanzin Dolkar - I refer to her by her full name because Ladakhis don’t always go by the first name, nor do they always go by the last name.  It seems to be a random application of the names, more so than in the West.  Since there are as many Dolkar Stanzins as there are Stanzin Dolkars, I prefer to follow the other form of the acronym: “KISS”, Keep it Simple Stupid - had to hold learn-to-skate lessons for extra days due to us being stranded in Drass.  When we arrived, the first thing we did was check out the ice rink that was claimed to be to international standards.  They were not (no surprise there).  The rink was a fraction of the size that was claimed by the head of KISS, there were no boards, the ice was beyond choppy, and oh yeah, there were no goals.  You know…minor details.

Another problem facing the players in Bodhkharboo: poor skates.  This has been a problem throughout Ladakh.  We thought it was bad in Drass.  It was much worse in Bodhkharboo.  Children were wearing enormous skates with dull edges on poor ice.  We weren’t able to coach more than 20-25 people at a time, and even though that’s ideal in North America, we can usually accommodate a few more in Asia.  Overnight they built some hockey goals for us to run a learn-to-play program, as intended.  Unfortunately, since nobody in Bodhkharboo had ice skated previously, this was just a continuation of the learn-to-skate program that Stanzin Dolkar ran before our arrival.

We did end up running some passing drills to at least make it appear that it was a hockey clinic, but these drills were performed with incredible difficulty in comprehension and execution.  The concept: pass to the player across from you, then skate to where they were standing.  They will do the same to the next person in line, and so on.  Got it?  We had to do this drill for two days, and it still wasn’t close to done well.  

Separate from the educational limits, there was only 1 player on the ice other than myself and Paul that had a hockey stick that would be considered adequate.  Some players had sticks that were 2 feet shorter than they were.  Other players had sticks that were heavily taped together to keep it in one piece.  Some players had hockey sticks constructed with local wood.  They were not tempered, so had lots of flex and minimal support, and the blade was rarely curved more than 1 cm, and to make matters worse, was a separate piece of wood that was usually nailed and wrapped with twine.  This is arguably the most important part of the whole stick, the base of the shaft near the heal of the blade, as most sticks break here due to the shock and vibration when passing and shooting (or slashing in some cases).  These days, wood sticks are usually fused together by blending with plastics and composite materials and are tempered to the point where it becomes one piece.  If the shaft and blade are in two pieces, all the vibration in the blade will stop at the nails and twine, limiting the stress the hockey stick can handle.  I tried to explain this to the guy making these sticks.  He responded with a blank stare.

The biggest problem during the passing & skating drill was that most of the passes were significantly off.  Usually the passes were 10 feet wide, which is where another player in line was standing.  I would not accept that their shotty sticks were the culprit, so I traded sticks with a player and showed them that even a local stick can give and receive accurately, and that their local sticks are sufficient to execute a drill properly.  They still couldn’t control their passing, so I gave each group an ultimatum: 3 large mistakes as a group and the next one goes.  Keep doing it right, keep practicing.  This was a pretty effective shift, instead of just letting each group go for a set time.  It motivated them to pay better attention, try harder and assist the players that were struggling.

Since our time was limited, I ran a classroom session after the 1st practice.  I spent an hour, translating through Stanzin Dolkar, explaining the rules, penalties and basic concepts of the game.  Some of the kids were great, asking detailed questions about scenarios, while others laughed and dozed off.  They got one warning, then they were kicked out.  30 minutes in, I gave them an opportunity to leave as a group, so the youngest took that opportunity, which is sad in one aspect, but considering it’s the older ones that will teach the younger ones, it’s fine by me.

Ultimately, it’s unfortunate that we weren’t able so spend more time in Bodhkharboo, but there’s also a frustration, considering we were promised a particular scenario about the condition of hockey in the area that was not true at all.  The clinic was not for beginners, it was for children that never set foot on the ice.  It’s the beginning of being beginners.  Hopefully though, this was enough for them to take notice and start playing every Winter.  Considering the fact that Bodhkharboo is pretty remote from the major cities of Ladakh (Leh is 5 hours, Kargil is 2), it’s definitely something for them to do in the harsh Ladakhi Winter.  This was also an incredibly beautiful area, with mountains practically on top of the rink, which was a 3 minute walk from some pretty steep cliffs.  It was also one of the last Buddhist towns heading towards Kargil, even though it’s in Kargil district, which is predominantly Muslim, which makes it quite unique for the region.  There’s a feeling of being at the crossroads of Ladakh.

I look forward to spending a proper amount of time there next Winter.

Returning to Ladakh

Two years ago, a dream became reality.  There are so many variables that contributed to it, but at the end of the day, I would never have heard of Ladakh if not for my friend and former colleague Angela Ruggiero.  Once her random email about Ladakh came through, my life instantly changed, and on the shoulders of warm-hearted Americans & Canadians (in alphabetical order), I was able to begin a project that would redefine how I viewew my place on this planet.

Ladakh is a remote region in the Himalayas in the Indian state of Jammu & Kashmir.  Ladakhis are most similar to Tibetans, in the same way that Anglophile Canadians are most similar to Americans.  They have their own social identity, their own variations on the language, but to an untrained eye, they are interchangeable.  Ladakh is a predominantly Buddhist region, in a predominantly Muslim state, in a predominantly Hindu country, sandwiched between two disputed borders, with China (Tibet) & Pakistan (Kashmir). It’s a region that has been conquered and attacked many times over the past millennia. Needless to say that Ladakh is a unique region.  It leaves an impression on everyone that goes there, in an almost mystical way.  It’s like Ladakh is in a time capsule from a thousand years ago, even with many of the things we have in our modern lives.

Through my experiences teaching ice hockey in Heilongjiang Province in Northern China & in Ladakh, I got to see how effective sports (namely hockey) can be in improving the quality of life for people who deal with more hardships than we do.  I spent a month teaching hockey in Ladakh, playing with children, and providing them with tools to further their potential in a region and country that seem to limit so many.  

The trip to Ladakh was motivated by the desire to impart values that we have come to identify as human beings as being crucial to our success: honesty, accountability, team-work & toughness (mental & physical).

As a result of the work that was started, I was honored to become the national coach of India’s first ice hockey team, and got to represent India in the International Ice Hockey Federation’s (IIHF) Annual Conference.  What started as a humble volunteer trip quickly ballooned into something bigger, and the platform to use hockey as a means to make a difference in Ladakhi’s lives spurred The Hockey Foundation.

A few weeks ago, we debuted a new logo (graphic design by Kevin Sterling) that communicates so much of what The Hockey Foundation is about: using the ideals of hockey to foster cultural understanding and to communicate and instill virtues (identified above) that motivate change in the way people live their lives.  This pursuit contributes to a better life for us all, and is recognized by the UN & USA as an effective charitable means to attain this end.  

For this upcoming Winter, we are proud to introduce Goal0 as a sponsor.  Goal0 provides portable solar power for every day situations as well as massive expeditions.  They are providing some solar panels & batteries to be delivered to SECMOL, a local alternative school that is providing Ladakhi children of all religions with an opportunity to get a real education and broaden their horizons. They have also developed very promising young hockey players!

In less than a month, the next excursion to Ladakh begins.  The work started two years ago will be continued, with many bags of equipment donated by people from around North America, as well as the solar power products provided by Goal0.  This is going to be a big expense to drag to the other side of the planet, and your support is greatly needed to make this possible.  Space to store the equipment is running low, and the desire to help these children is strong.

There are so many factors affecting the lives of Ladakhis, but without a doubt, there’s a lot of hardship.  The region was hit by the flooding of the Indus/Sindhu River that devastated Pakistan.  The town I spent weeks training the Indian Ice Hockey Team was hit the hardest.  Hundreds of people died.  Even without this tragedy, there are many difficulties to overcome.  I’ll tell you all about that in my next post.

For now, please consider donating.  Your support will make a big difference, no matter the size of the contribution.

Click here to read about the new logo of The Hockey Foundation.

Warmest regards,

-Adam Sherlip, Executive Director

Ice Hockey in Ladakh, Part 2: Kargil Tournament

As if the trek to Chiktan/Kargil wasn’t enough, day one of the Kargil Open: Ice Hockey and Skating Championship began with confusion. There are some things I’m finding consistent in my travels through Asia. One: There are procedures that must be observed because that is the way things are; two: “Saving Face” and respecting elders/leaders is always expected.

This is important to remember as you learn more about what goes on with hockey in Ladakh, starting with Chiktan.

The morning the tournament was supposed to start, we were notified that a village elder had died. Obviously tragic, the tournament was to be delayed until after observances, which included the “chief guest”, otherwise known as the highest ranking official that could be dragged out in the middle of the winter to speak, be recognized, and then berated with requests for support from the organizers.

A team of foreigners was registered before I even arrived in Ladakh, something I was notified about the day I arrived at SECMOL.

The conversation went something like:

“So, uh, yeah, there’s a tournament coming up in a few days in Chiktan.”

Me: “Cool, is that far and am I coming?”

“It’s about 200 kilometers and you’re on the American team that is in the tournament.”

Me (sarcastically): “Ah. Good thing I brought full equipment.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll scrap some equipment together for you.”

That never happened. I ended up playing the whole tournament with just my stick, gloves, and skates. Oh, and a cup. As a side note, 200 km = 124 miles, since 10 km = 6.2 miles.

Anyway…we spent most of the day sitting in a room huddled around a kerosene stove, keeping ourselves and our skates warm (nothing worse than putting your feet in to a pair of ice skates…other than putting on some frozen wet undergarments. If you just pictured that…you’re welcome).

When we were finally notified a few hours later that the game was on, we were a bit cold, mostly cranky, and unaware that we had to stand on the ice in our skates THE WHOLE TIME, while everyone made speeches about how great hockey is (I presume). I don’t know about the rest of you, but I have a hard time just skating on ice when there is no stick and puck involved. My feet tend to hurt quickly and I get anxious. Now make it 10 degrees outside, snowing, in light gear, and tell me to stand still for 30 minutes. Yeah, you guessed it…I was day-dreaming about which speaker to shoot a puck at first.

As the game was starting, we discovered it was just a preliminary match. Apparently the torture of waiting all day was all for naught, not that I cared. As far as I’m concerned, tell me what color to wear and which way to shoot, and I’m good to go.

Our team, “Vermont, USA” (I protested the team name and recommended “Maple Syrup” instead, since although most of the team was from Vermont, I am obviously not, and neither were the 3 Ladakhi’s called up to the show), was in white, possibly the worst color to wear when playing outside in snow. The rink was about the size of a tennis court, but instead of a smooth, playable surface, the ice was more reminiscent of a floor of a bar after a fight: broken glass everywhere. There were danger zones around the rink, notably the entire far side of the rink (1/3 the surface) - which didn’t affect me in the first half (don’t get me started on the fact that they had halves in hockey), as I have a left-side deficiency, the center face-off circle – that made taking face-offs a bit tough for me, and then a couple of paths shooting down the rink. Anybody that fell in these zones was guaranteed major ass-bruises, scrapes, or bloody noses. As a result, these were called “walk, don’t run or skate, zones”…if you dared enter this no-man’s land.

That being said, competition was not exactly tough, and although the home team had an advantage of being acclimated to the altitude, used to playing on a small rink, being trained in the art of ice-walking-hockey, and our Ladakhi goalie, team “Vermont, USA” came out passing and won the game 10-2. In case you were wondering: 2 goals (I think), including a “pass” out of the defensive zone that bounced into the opponent’s net.

After the debacle from the first night in Chiktan (See Part 1), I was quick to accept the invite of the VIS (Vermont Intercultural Semesters) group to stay with the family of Tashi Angchok, a Ladakhi employee of VIS. What an upgrade! The house was of traditional Ladakhi design, with stone walls, wood/straw/mud roofs, no running water, no central heating, and no western toilets. Since this is Ladakh, and we are already well aware of the Things We Take For Granted, it was an amazing time staying there with such a warm and inviting family! We spent most of our time in the winter kitchen, just sitting around a stove, reading, writing, drawing, chatting, laughing, playing cards, drinking tea & eating. At that moment in time, the warmth of the room and the warmth of Tashi’s family made us easily forget that it was around 10 degrees outside, and we were in the middle of the mountains. The kitchen was safe haven.

Ladakh is split between Buddhists and Muslims, and while many people in Leh are Buddhist, most of the population in Chiktan/Kargil is Muslim, except Tashi’s family. Historically, the local healer was a Buddhist, so as the village became Islamic over time, Tashi’s ancestors were to remain Buddhist so they can heal the population. The family house is across from a mosque, on a small stream, and while I was told of rumors that prayers were done on the loud speaker at 4 am, it never happened while I was in residence. Apparently it was too cold to pray.

This is not a statement about religion, since everybody is incredibly friendly and inviting. Best of all, they all love hockey! That’s all that matters at this point in time.

The next day, we made sure we waited at Tashi’s house before departing for the rink. Understanding the looseness of Ladakhi scheduling, we didn’t want to sit in the cold for hours waiting to play in frozen equipment. When we received our phone call to leave, we rushed into the packed van, drove 10 minutes on a snowy, winding road (have you detected a theme with the roads?), and rushed to get dressed.

We still had to wait.

Once again, by the time we made it onto the ice, we were in “walk, don’t skate” mode. I requested that the ice be swept up (they use brooms and plywood boards to clean the ice), which was denied. Regardless of ice conditions, Vermont, USA won the game 9-1, again as a result of dominant passing. For those of you keeping track at home, 3 goals.

That day, a goal dispute had to be broken up by the local police. Apparently a team felt they had scored a goal, which was called off, and the team protested the game, which never finished. As you will see in future posts, there is a pattern with disputes and discipline in hockey in Ladakh. This dispute lasted for a full 24 hours, requiring mediation from local officials. The dispute was resolved the following day - before our final match - with the goal being disallowed and the teams playing less than 5 minutes to resolve their match. The mini-game ended with no score, and the game ended the way the dispute began. The team that had been complaining refused to pay their entry fee as a result. They had lost to our team, and were not in the finals. Why waste your money if you aren’t going to win, right?

Originally, we were going to play SECMOL boys in the “Men’s” final (we had 1 woman on our team), even though they hadn’t played a single game in the tournament. After the disputed game was resolved, we played the winner of this game after hours of delay. A few of my comrades were itching to leave as early as possible to make it back before sundown, and were getting particularly frustrated with the loose Ladakhi schedule. I personally didn’t care much, as long as nobody jumped on me at 5 am. The game we requested begin before 11 am started around 1:30 pm, and there was a brief ceremony to start the match where the “chief guest” placed a traditional pashmina scarf around each of our necks. Not knowing what to do about this, we decided it be best to play hockey with the scarves still around our necks, trying our hardest not to rip the delicate and beautiful piece of Ladakhi culture, let alone choke ourselves.

After winning this game 9-0 (3 goals with a blinding migraine), we had to participate in a much longer, and somewhat confusing, awards ceremony. Let’s blame the confusion on my headache.

With all of the Chiktan/Kargil drama over, we were able to be on the road back to Leh by 3 pm. I could not be more appreciative of being able to play hockey in a remote, gorgeous area surrounded by mountains and running streams, with incredibly friendly and enthusiastic people. There are already tentative plans for me to return to Kargil next year to host a coaching/hockey clinic to support development of the game in a region of Ladakh slightly ignored by the wealthy population in Leh, the main city of the region.

The love of hockey in the Kargil area is just as strong as in Leh, and I want to do everything I can to help them grow with the game!

Here are a few pictures I love, but so many more are already posted on Flickr.

All the best,

Adam

Tashi’s nephew holding skates and a water bottle in front of the mosque.

Me walking with my gear and my head down while there was a soldier/guard walking with his gun.

Your’s truly. I never did bend my knees enough.

Yes, that’s a cow, in front of a crowd at an ice rink. I waited for the cow to return to take this picture, and just when I did, it turned to face me. =)