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Methane fuel increasingly used in Tibet

preciousmetal — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 14:23:09 +0000

Around 8 a.m., Puqung, a farmer in Zongxia Village in China's Tibet Autonomous Region, turns on a methane stove in the kitchen to begin preparing her family's breakfast.

Looking at the blue flame, she seems happy.

"We used cow manure for cooking and heating before, but the smell it gave off was so suffocating that I couldn't open my eyes."

The family now has access to methane. A pipe connects the stove to a methane pit in the backyard.

Since the innovation, the Puqung's kitchen has been clean.

"Life is much easier since we don't have to collect livestock manure and firewood any more," said Puqung.

Like her family, almost all households in the large farming village are interested in building methane pits which are covered holes where waste can ferment and create useable gas.

"We are benefiting from the new fuel," Zon'gar, a villager said. "It turns wastes into treasures."

A cleaner environment and economic profits have made methane pits increasingly popular in rural areas of Tibet.

Jo'nga Cering, an inspector of Tibet's agro-pastoral department, said the regional government has been researching a practicable method of using methane fuel in plateau areas.

"If we build a greenhouse on the methane pit, it ensures the required temperature for fermenting stalks and straws," Jo'nga Cering said. "It proves efficient."

An eight-cubic-meter methane pit can provide 80 percent of the annual cooking and heating energy used by a five-member family. That can save a family about 1,000 yuan (146 U.S. dollars) a year.

It's estimated more than 100,000 Tibetan households now use methane gas.

The government began promoting the new fuel in rural areas in 2006.

This year, the government plans to build 39,468 methane generating facilities. At the end of 2010, the figure is expected to reach 200,000 across the region.

Methane gas not only improves living conditions for farmers and herders it also saves coal and firewood, Jo'nga Cering said.

Day Fifty Two: Eduardo's Road To Fitness

eduardo dos remedios — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 14:22:16 +0000

I was lying on the Dave’s sofa after quite a heavy night out in Girona. Dave looked a little hung over but was putting on a brave face. He had an unenviable day of house hold chores ahead of him. Not great when all you want to do is chill, re-hydrate and try to remember the night before.

I was asked an unusual question. Had I ever been ‘lost and really scared?.” I racked my brains. I was linking ‘lost’ and ‘scared’. Lost, yes. Scared, yes. Lost and scared, no. I ended up telling a story about a time when I was sea kayaking and my arms stopped working. I was drifting out to sea with two cramping arms, stuck in a strong current. That was quite scary but I was not ‘lost’. I knew where I was.

On my motorcycle ride back from Girona I started thinking of when I had been ‘lost’. By definition ‘lost’ is :-

having gone astray or missed the way; bewildered as to place, direction, etc.

The most epic case of me being lost occurred quite some years ago on a mountain bike trip in China. I was living in Hong Kong and had realised that upon my doorstep lay a vast country. I decided to explore some of it on my bike. And set off into China.

I flew up to Chengdu, the capital city of Sichuan province and decided to cycle towards Tibet. I was not alone. I was with two friends of mine. We all got lost. Lost in the sense that we had no idea what road we were on, no idea if we were headed the correct way and no idea where we would be at the end of it.

The road was beautiful. It was rugged. It was not paved. Well it was paved, but with rocks the size of filing cabinets. It was steep, but not so steep that it could not be ridden on a mountain bike. Just steep enough that each night you collapsed into a heap, with your energy levels at zero.

We were climbing up towards the Tibetan plateau. Heading towards the famous ‘Tibetan Blue Skies’. High altitude stuff. Five thousand metres up. A sky that was almost space. Where you could watch shooting stars in the evening, where local legends told of yeti like creatures that lived way up above the tree line. A great place for a couple of young travelling mountain bikers.

We had taken a wrong turn. We had climbed all day, and with every hour that past we realized we had taken the wrong turn. The road got worse; the average size of the rocks grew larger, from grape fruit sized, to loaf of bread size, to filing cabinet sized.

It was getting dark. High up in the mountains twilight lasts about fifteen minutes. The sun drops, behind the high mountain peaks and then, bang, its pitch black. A soon as the sky becomes red; you realize that you have to find a place to ensconce yourself. You have very little time.

The sky was pink when we spotted the monastery on top of the hill in the distance.

About a thousand steps led up to the top of the hill. Ancient steps, worn out by sandaled feet. Next to the steps was a smooth concrete ramp that followed the steps. We put our bikes on the ramp and pushed. It took a good forty minutes to reach the top. Sweating and aware of the rapidly failing light we were confronted by a male guard. He looked stern.

In no uncertain terms he told us we had to leave and that we were not welcome. In response we smiled and shook his hand. I think I hugged him. We pulled out a guidebook. He grabbed it and started trying to stitch together a sentence that said we were not welcome. We pretended to misunderstand and hugged him, we thanked him profusely. Just as this was going on, the drawer bridge was lowered and several female monks appears, smiling. The guard faltered, then smiled and let us pass.

The monks took charge. The whisked us onto a patio that over-looked the valley far below. They made us sit on small wooden stools. I was lost for words as I looked out over the valley. Mist was rushing in, covering the lower hills, obliterating the small villages below. Somewhere in the distance wild dogs began to howl. It was eerie.

The monks removed our shoes and began to wash our feet in bowls. We were all pretty embarrassed. We had been cycling for days and our socks were disgusting.

With clean feet, we were ushered into a large, dimly lit dining room. A single orange bulb glowed above a massive, circular wooden table. Plate after plate of food was presented to us. Vegetarian food. Delicious, full of flavour. We ate. As fast as we ate, more plates were delivered. My two friends began to falter.

“C’mon guys we have to finish this stuff.” I said, forcing myself to another helping of rice and vegetables.

Eventually we were beaten. We had done well. We had eaten almost everything. I pushed my plate away from me and patted my stomach, shaking my head, showing that I was absolutely stuffed. A monk began to distribute the remains of our food amongst the fifty or sixty other monks watching us. They were still smiling yet we had eaten almost all of their food.

To say we felt bad, would be a bit of an understatement. We bowed our heads in shame. The monks finished their meal pretty quickly and we were shown to our room. I went to sleep.

At about three in the morning there was a loud knock at the door. I rose and had a look.

It was a monk. She was about three feet high. She mimed ‘eating food’ - Breakfast. I woke the others and told them it was time to eat. They could not believe it.

Needless to say we did not eat much. The monks however ate well. They had a huge breakfast. It was exactly the same food. We smiled. We left and went back to bed. We were still embarrased. In the morning we were also still lost but we were having an adventure. We were certainly not scared and we were certainly full.

Sometimes being 'lost' is good. Unless you are a hungry monk and are entertaining those that are lost.

Dalai Lama to undergo medical examination

preciousmetal — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 00:56:13 +0000

From CNN

Tibetan spiritual leader the Dalai Lama will undergo a routine medical examination at a hospital in the Indian capital on Tuesday, his spokesman Tenzin Taklha told CNN Sunday.

The check-up in New Delhi is likely to take several hours, but the Dalai Lama will not be admitted to the hospital, the spokesman said.

The Dalai Lama, who lives in exile in the north Indian hill town of Dharamsala, will travel to the Indian capital on Monday.

The 73-year-old Tibetan leader was hospitalized in Mumbai in August for abdominal discomfort.

Why the British/Arabic Obsession with Shakespeare?

elementaryteacher — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 22:14:14 +0000

[caption id="attachment_929" align="alignnone" width="224" caption="William Shakespeare"][/caption]

Much of the Arab World seems to me (an American) to be obsessed with Shakespeare! Yes, I do think there is a place for Shakespeare in the literature curriculum, but I think it is being entirely overdone. I think one or (certainly not more than three) Shakespeare plays should be included in the curriculum, but other time should be spent on more interesting and valuable literature.

I spoke with some British friends I have who told me that British children are started on reading Shakespeare at age 11! When I asked what for, one of them finally told me that knowledge of Shakespeare is used as an adult mainly to impress other adults. OK, I'm American, and I find much of the language terribly hard to understand. I really can't see it being useful to most people to learn much of this sort of antiquidated language. Yet, throughout the Arab World, so many university programs seem to focus on extensive reading of Shakespeare!

About fifteen years ago, I had a friend from Libya. He went on and on about how when he was in school, they had performed Shakespeare's plays in Arabic, using all the correct classical Arabic endings for words (as opposed to using the local dialet of Arabic). People in my present country have told me similar things.

Where I live now, I often have country nationals who have earned university degrees in English (as a second or third language) talk to me about how they read a lot of Shakespeare in university. At the same time, their command of ordinary English vocabulary is often lacking. Some of them cannot write clear English sentences. Wouldn't the time spend studying Shakespeare be better spent in English composition classes, and/or reading literature that uses language currently used, particularly when they are subsequently in jobs requiring a good command of English?

Eileen

Why the British/Arabic Obsession with Shakespeare?

elementaryteacher — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 22:14:14 +0000

[caption id="attachment_929" align="alignnone" width="224" caption="William Shakespeare"][/caption]

Eileen