Our own pilgrimage began with the name of a remote village scribbled on paper, from which we would set off. The breadth of information we received, much of it contradictory, created a sort of game, and we were left to sift through facts and advice offered in broken English, at best. Given our limited provisions and the absence of conventional accommodation, we depended on finding a village home stay - this we found with the Limboo family in a small village nestled at the junction of two tumbling, granitic rivers.
the Limboo matriarch
Reaching the caves took two days; we encountered no signs along the way, no positive reinforcement of our trajectory. The final section of trail ascended a 5,200-foot mountainside of switchbacks through dense forest with a ghostly bamboo understory. The caves were chock-full of spiritual offerings, and incense smoke wafted from the entrance. I was said to be the first American to visit the caves, and I’ll take this with a thick pinch of salt; nevertheless, it’s nice to forgo the potato trail, if only briefly.
