The lure of marrying an American

On Sunday, I attended a most unusual wedding. A 43-year-old California man married a 22-year-old Tibetan woman. The two had only met ten days earlier. Arranged marriages like this are typically done for immigration purposes only, but this was, by all accounts, a love marriage that happened to be arranged. The arranger was a prominent Tibetan Buddhist teacher. The woman was his niece and the man was his close disciple. The man looked just like Johnny Depp and taught meditation to juvenile offenders in Oakland. The woman was stunningly beautiful with a million dollar smile and a joyful demeanor. She was still studying at the high school level at a Tibetan refugee camp in Northern India, but spoke English with ease.

A wild, old Tibetan man officiated the ceremony with a series of prayers, mantras and well-wishes to the couple. The groom’s brother, who looked like a Madame Tussauds Wax Museum replica of Brad Pitt in his Seven Years in Tibet role, then led the couple through the exchange of vows and rings (minus the kissing the bride part, which would have been culturally inappropriate). They did cut a cake and put pieces in each other’s mouths, which was viewed with puzzled amazement by the Tibetan family of the bride.

The Tibetan word for wedding can literally be translated as “setting for drinking beer” and so, naturally, we then commenced with several hours of beer drinking and merriment. After the feast, we settled down for a series of animated games of Uno, the classical Mattel card game of numbers and colors. Luck was on my side that day, and I managed to win five games.

I have been asked to marry people in South Asia for immigration purposes several times. The first happened in 2000, when I stayed at a Tibetan refugee camp in South India. I became well-acquainted with a married Tibetan couple and their young son. We exchanged phone numbers and addresses and when I returned to the U.S., a strange letter awaited. The man had managed to get refugee asylum in the U.S., but his wife was not able to join him. The wife therefore wrote me directly to ask that I marry her so she can come to the U.S. too. She included a sexy photograph of herself as well, which struck me as a little strange considering she was already happily married and wanted to marry me only so she could be with her husband. After consulting with some people, I decided against the proposal.

When you marry someone for immigration purposes so they can come to the U.S., you invariably have to do a lot of lying, some of which is at the felony level. I have several friends who have gone through with it anyway, knowing they can divorce after five years and still help the foreigner out. To have the marriage accepted by the Department of Immigration, both parties have to go through intense grilling and scrutiny. You are sometimes asked intimate questions about the other’s genitals and sexual prowess to see if you hesitate or answer as naturally as someone who is already married. If they are convinced you are lying and don’t really know or love your supposed spouse, they may reject the marriage and send the spouse back to their home country. The American could also get jail time if their lying can be proven.
Someone I know recently arranged an immigration marriage between an American and a Tibetan girl. When the two met, they decided that they liked each other and would try it out as a legitimate love marriage. A friend of mine who used to live in the same house with them said they do a lot of quarreling, but they are still together.

Sometimes, foreigners will marry Nepali women for their own immigration purposes. My European friend has a fake Nepali wife arranged through an agent whom he has no relations with. Thanks to the arrangement, he can get a year-long Nepali visa for only $10 a month that can be renewed each year. A typical visa costs $60 a month and is only valid for 5 months. For her trouble, the Nepali girl receives a salary and can be granted a divorce when she is ready to settle down for real.

One of my friends on the Nepal program in 1999/2000 married her Nepali trekking guide after they fell in love. She moved back with him to Milwaukee, where they fell out of love after a few months and separated. Both of them later remarried and lived happily ever after in the U.S.

Many people here have an obsession with going to the U.S. to work. In their minds, it is glamorous and lucrative and as soon as they touch down on U.S. soil, they will be able to start raking it in. Most of them don’t realize that working illegally on a tourist visa can get you deported and rarely pays above minimum wage. They also don’t tend to factor in the astronomical cost of living in the U.S., which is easily 10 times that of Nepal. (You can buy a meal at a restaurant here for 70 cents and get a decent hotel room for $2.50). The airfare to the U.S. is also around 5 times the annual income for a Nepali (not an exaggeration). The success stories of “a friend of a friend” who went to the U.S. on a tourist visa and is now thriving are enough to keep the American dream alive and well in the hearts of Nepalis and keep immigration marriage requests coming for Americans throughout the Nepal.

In memory of Jeanne Larson

January 14th marked the three year anniversary of my mother’s passing. I happen to live near one of the most sacred sights in the world for Tibetan Buddhists, the Boudhanath Stupa, and to mark the occasion lit 200 butter lamps in her memory. Butter lamps are similar to candles, consisting of a copper base with butter as a fuel instead of wax and a wick in the middle. They are not tall like regular candles, but rest sturdily in their bases. They are offered for the benefit of the living or the deceased at sacred Buddhist places around the world.

My mother’s name is Jeanne Larson and she left a lasting legacy in the fields of nutrition, environmental activism, and peace work in the region where she lived, Northwestern Wisconsin.

In the field of nutrition, she held a Master’s Degree from the University of Bridgeport and worked as an allergy nutritionist at an ENT clinic. She wrote a prolific amount of literature on various topics related to nutrition in a series of pamphlets that asserted that eating whole, healthy foods is the most effective medicine to prevent and treat illnesses. On January 14th, 2007, she asked my father, Lynn, to drive to a friend’s house 12 miles away to deliver some nutritional literature the woman had requested to help her manage an illness.

In the field of environmental activism, she wrote countless letters to the editors of local newspapers to speak out against polluting SUV’s and snowmobiles in the area and promote environmental awareness and living in harmony with nature. She had a popular series of note cards called Down to Earth which paired her own photography of nature scenes with quotations taken from poets and philosophers. She launched her note card business from scratch and made sure to use recycled paper and biodegradable packaging at every stage. They were sold at stores throughout Bayfield County, Wisconsin. On January 14th, 2007, she stepped out of the house onto the deck for her daily ritual of greeting the sun and breathing in the fresh, clean air of our Cable, Wisconsin farm.

In the field of peace work, she was a founding member of Stop Project ELF and several local peace groups. Project ELF (ELF stands for extremely low frequency) was a communication base that gave orders to the U.S.’s nuclear-armed submarines by sending electric signals through the ground to receiving towers in remote areas. It was based near our home. Jeanne spoke at and helped to organize annual Mother’s Day rallies at Project Elf for over 20 years. All that worked paid off when Project ELF was shut down about five years ago. Jeanne also worked with her friend Marge to create a book called Seeds of Peace: A Catalogue of Quotations (1986), which was featured at the United Nations Book Store in New York. On January 14th, 2007, she traveled over 20 miles with my father to attend a meeting of Peace North, a peace advocacy group based in Hayward, Wisconsin. Later that year, Peace North dedicated the bus trip they took to Washington, D.C. to Jeanne, and marched at an anti-war rally in her memory.


On the evening of January 14th, 2007, after a full day that included attending my father’s church service and singing some of her favorite hymns, Jeanne sat down in her favorite chair and gazed out the window one last time at the apple tree in our front yard. She looked around her office at pictures of her favorite people and her favorite images from nature, and closed her eyes for the last time. She died peacefully with a smile on her face, knowing she had lived a full life and made a difference in the lives of countless people. I think of her every day as I, too, try to realize that peace of mind and foster the compassion and skill necessary to help others.

1.6.09 from Kathmandu: Snowy Paradise

Helambu is heaven on Earth. In the book I put together called Compassionate Action, I have a chapter on this region, which the Tibetans call Yolmo. It is considered a paradise for Buddhist practice. Ian Baker discussed this region with Chatral Rinpoche, and he wrote, “Beyond Yolmo’s visible terrain of mountains, streams and forests, (Chatral Rinpoche) said, lies an inner level corresponding to the flow of intangible energies in the physical body. Deeper still, the subtle elements animating the environment merge with the elements present within the practitioner—the secret level. Finally, at the innermost level lies a paradisiacal dimension revealed through an auspicious conjunction of person, place and time. Chatral Rinpoche contended that this is not merely a metaphor for the enlightened state, but an ever-present, if hidden, reality.”

Chatral Rinpoche wrote about Yolmo, “…Surrounded by moats of water and walls of earth and rock, graced perpetually by clouds, mist and rain, the valley is naturally sealed from the outer world. If from among hundreds there are a few endeavoring to practice Dharma from their hearts, I say ‘Come to this place for the attainment of Buddhahood in this life.’”

It sounded like a perfect place to spend my New Year’s holiday.

On December 31st, I woke up at 1 a.m. to a strange sound—a heavy downpour. It only rains in December in Kathmandu “once in a blue moon.” Sure enough, on the blue moon day, it rained heavily. This was great news for me, because it meant that up in the mountains, where I was headed, there would be plenty of fresh snow to greet me.

I left the monastery at 5 a.m. and walked an hour in the dark to the bus stand. I had no idea what was in store for me. It turns out the $1.50 for the 5 hour bus ride was like putting six quarters into a mechanical bull riding machine at a bar in Texas. The single-lane mountain road descending into the mountain valley of Helambu had gigantic ruts and potholes throughout, made worse by the fresh rain. I bumped my head on the bus ceiling no fewer than five times. Once, when the guy next to me got up from his seat, the seat itself flew up about 3 feet in the air and onto the bus floor.

I survived the ordeal and met a local man who was going in the same direction as I, a village called Tarkegyang. It was 3 straight hours of uphill climbing, but the waterfalls and spectacular mountain scenery eased the pain in my legs and lungs. I was delighted to discover plenty of snow in my village, and after checking into my hotel, got to work making a snowman. I usually try to build an epic snow creature at least 9 feet high (one of which made the front page of a local newspaper in Northern Wisconsin two years ago), but since dark was fast approaching, I scaled it down a bit.

My quaint lodge, called Mountain View, offered a room for $1.35. I was the only guest and become well acquainted with the lodge owner, who thankfully spoke Tibetan. (Most people in this mountainous area speak a unique dialect that combines Tibetan and Nepali). He cooked up a New Year’s Eve feast for me that included steamed dumplings stuffed with cabbage picked fresh from his snowy garden, an omelet, and a pint of Everest beer. I am quite fond of games, especially around the holidays, so he taught me a popular Nepali card game called Marriage. The game involves three full decks of cards and took me three full nights to learn. By the end of my stay, I became quite adept at the game and managed to score a 45 in one game, which was considered by the hotel owner to be quite an achievement.

That night it descended into single digits Fahrenheit, but I stayed warm with six layers of clothing, a heavy-duty sleeping bag, and a thick blanket to top things off. The next morning, I set out on a steep, snowy trail that would take me to Chatral Rinpoche’s famous three-year retreat center in a place called Lhakang. The trail was very peaceful and quiet, with the only disturbance coming from the machine-gun fluttering of a family of mountain grouse. As I reached the mountaintop and began my descent to Lhakang, I met a menacing-looking local mountain man with a curved machete prominently displayed on his belt. He confirmed I was on the right trail and I soon arrived at a cascading stream, where I had my lunch. I entered Chatral Rinpoche’s compound and was greeted by a huge black yak. Must be the security guard. As I came close, he threatened me with his horns, and so I took a detour to get around him.


As I circumambulated the temple, I saw something strange in the distance—a couple of large white monkeys! I didn’t think there were monkeys in the Nepali mountains and was quite perplexed. I heard some people chanting prayers in the distance and continued past the helicopter landing area to a row of ancient stupas. Below me, a large herd of goats ran over to their feeding troths. As I descended to the edge of the compound, I was greeted by a wild-looking Tibetan man with a dragon shirt named Sangye (Buddha in Tibetan). He was very friendly and invited me for lunch. When I gave him a copy of Compassionate Action, he jumped around joyfully like a leprechaun. He made me a delicious dish with fried potatoes, vegetables and yak cheese and introduced me to the other retreatants there. One man, who looked very much like a young Chatral Rinpoche, had been there 10 years. He told me that Chatral Rinpoche last came here in the spring of 2005 and that there was no longer a lama in the compound, so they were more or less doing their 3-year retreats on their own.

My new friends asked me to take some pictures of the thriving goat herd to give to Chatral Rinpoche, and they gathered all 88 goats from their respective fields for the photo shoot. They were all male goats, and so did a lot of head butting as they sparred at the feeding troth. We then walked up to the temple and they gave me a tour. Chatral Rinpoche’s portrait was painted on the wall along with his root teacher and the main figures of the Longchen Nyingthig lineage. There were also Buddhist figures important to the region painted on the wall. Chatral Rinpoche is known for embracing the local culture in addition to flawlessly preserving his own Tibetan Buddhist lineages. The Hindu/Buddhist shrine he built in Pharping in 2008 is an example of that.

My friends built a small snowman and we all posed for a photo in front of it. I hope to return next fall for a one-month retreat if I can get the necessary permissions. They gave me one of their goat herding sticks and it seemed to possess magic powers to prevent fatigue. The same hill that had taken me 45 minutes to climb down took me 30 minutes to climb straight up.

That New Year’s Day Evening I took a photo of the full moon that I had no idea my digital Powershot SX10 camera was capable of. I admit, I am quite proud of my 80x zoom. To celebrate the photographic achievement (and the New Years of course) I invented an exotic mountain drink that combined hot chocolate and a locally made coffee liqueur called Mustang Roksi.
The next day, I climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the area, and thanks to the magic stick was able to climb it one hour faster than local estimates. A Guru Padmasambhava stupa topped the peak of the mountain and circumambulating it, you could see mountain ranges in every direction. I have captured that on video here. I spent four hours doing meditation and prayers there (and taking pictures of course), the best of which you can see here.I made a smoke/incense offering in the large burner by the stupa and repaired a number of prayer flags that had been knocked down by the wind. This mountaintop felt like home to me and may very well be my favorite place in the world.


The next morning, I descended toward the river to visit a cave that Milarepa had meditated in. Milarepa is the most famous Tibetan-born Buddhist of all time and you can read about him here. I meditated in his cave for ½ hour after offering a large butter lamp (Buddhist candle) and it was easily the most poignant meditation of my life. Thanks to being supercharged by this experience (and with the magic stick of course), I made it from the cave to my destination (Thimbu, where I caught my bus) in less than half the time estimated by the locals.

Yolmo is truly a paradise for Buddhist practitioners and I will do whatever I can to return in the fall.