Mustang: Nepal's hidden kingdom

On the remote edges of Nepal's cold desert of Mustang lives a Tibetan monk with a dream -- and a camcorder.

Setting out to do what no lama from Mustang has done before, Pasang Gurung has made a film in hopes of attracting Westerners -- and their dollars, euros and pounds -- to his picturesque, but impoverished, homeland.

The 42-minute movie features wide shots of Mustang's broad mountain vistas and stark deserts; close-ups of the region's ubiquitous Buddhist temples and yaks, the pack of animal of choice in the Himalayas, and footage of monks in saffron robes dancing at the annual "Tenji" festival, dedicated to world peace.

"I want money to come to our ... monastery. I want more money to come to our region, because then local people will get employment, and living standards will go up," Gurung told The Associated Press in an interview during a visit to Kathmandu.

"Tourism is the only way out because our beautiful land is all we have," said the 37-year-old monk, sitting in a flowing red robe at a Tibetan education center.

Mustang, some 300 kilometers (180 miles) northwest of Kathmandu, is part of predominantly Hindu Nepal, but has its own ceremonial king. Its 7,000 people have strong cultural ties to neighboring Tibet, and the kingdom's mountain slopes are dotted with Buddhist monasteries and shrines.

In fact, the only road connecting Lo-Monthang, the kingdom's capital, to the outside world is through Tibet and nearly all the visitors these days are Tibetan refugees who sneak past Chinese border guards. Most are on their way to the northern Indian town of Dharmsala, home to the government-in-exile of the their leader, the Dalai Lama.

But, since few tourists are allowed into Tibet and crossing the border between Nepal and China is difficult at best, Gurung is hoping to convince the thousands of trekkers who come to Nepal each year that the five-day hike from the nearest Nepali town to Mustang is worth the effort.

"I am worried tourists might think it takes too long to get there," he said. "But once you reach there, it is heavenly."

The region was closed to most outsiders until 1992, and access is limited even now to people with permits, which aren't easily available. But Nepali officials say that is changing.

"Mustang is one of our most prominent tourist destinations, and we are taking steps to deregulate controls and open it up to tourists," said Aditya Baral, spokesman for the government's Nepal Tourism Board.

Raised by monks, Gurung is trying to find a way to renew the land that nurtured him.

Shortly after his birth, Gurung was given away to the deeply revered Chhoedhe monastery by his mother, in keeping with an ancient Mustang tradition that requires each family to offer their second son to the monastery.

Under the care of monks, Gurung had what he describes as an idyllic childhood, praying, playing with other child monks, riding horses and yaks, and learning how to farm.

"My homeland is so peaceful. People don't have much education, but they are simple people. When tourists come, it will give them exposure to the outside world," he said.

But in the years since his carefree childhood, he's grown to become the head of the monastery -- and to see young people trickling away from Mustang in search of jobs.

Stem the flow
"When people go away, our culture is washed away as well. We don't want them to leave," Gurung said. "If opportunities come to Mustang, they might stop going away."

Tourism, he said, could bring those opportunities and help stem the flow.

So he got himself a camcorder and worked for months in 2004, shooting countless scenes of life in Mustang. But when he finally sat down to look at his footage, he realized it "was no good."

So the following year, he decided to play director and let a professional cameraman, hired by The Himalayan Cultural Conservation Camp, a group he heads, handle the cinematography. It cost about $6,000 to make, and they raised the money from donations from friends and well-wishers in Nepal and overseas.

The result was decidedly more polished, and Gurung is now in talks with state-run Nepal television to have at least part of it broadcast. There are no plans yet to broadcast it overseas.

He knows that opening up his closed region to the world comes with a risk.

"If more money comes in, it could bring greed among people, and squabbling, and a feeling of competition. That is certainly a fear," Gurung said. "But our land is so dependent on the Tibet road, from where salt, clothes and food come to us. What if that stops one day? What is the option? I think the advantages are more than the harm."