The first thing I noticed this time is that Leh is a mess.  If ever one wondered what it would be like if a medieval Himalayan mountain city collided head-on with the modern world, Leh is the perfect example.  Western tourists come here by the thousands every summer for the beauty of its locale, its heavy commerce in all things spiritual, and its affordability.  Tourism is by far the largest industry in Leh.  I noticed that the infrastructure of the city is nowhere near adequately designed to accommodate this swell in population and all of the consequences that it brings.

I noticed that there are real problems here, the same as in any other place.  It is easy to think, as a tourist and an outsider, that because of the natural beauty that surrounds the place or the embedded spirituality of the culture, that people are more enlightened and have fewer problems, are less in need of help.  The truth is that the same problems exist here as in any other part of the world, in greater or lesser degrees.

But then, I suppose that’s why I came here in the first place.  I think that it’s natural when doing this kind of work—that is, attempting to help others from a culture not your own—to question the role one plays, the efficacy and meaningfulness of one’s actions on both the small and large scale.  In the end, there is so much that we can never know.

Ultimately, I have decided that for me the reward of working for the underserved, beyond the abstract notion of “helping someone”, comes from experiences in the field, from a handful of interactions with various people, locals and students that make the whole endeavor worthwhile.  It is through these exchanges that one makes a difference, at least as much as in changing the shape of the built environment; these exchanges persist in memory, rich and alive, long after we have returned to our normal lives and affect our work in times to come in profound and unknowable ways.

The things we build in the field are a record of these moments—for example, the conversation between students and Ladakhi workers leading to the design of a building detail—that tell the story of collaboration and of many different people coming together in pursuit of a common goal.  It is for this reason that I think this type of work is so important, for what is architecture if not the expression of a dialogue between people, between individuals, community and culture?  It is a way in which individuals can have a voice, and individual conversations can be heard, both by the local community and the community of the world at large.

In honor of the many amazing conversations I had this summer I would like to thank all of the students of Design-Build: Ladakh 2010, Sergio, Kim & Kyle, Anokhee, Prasad, Tashi, Lobsang and most of all, Angdus without whom we would still be in Ladakh wondering what to do with all those mud bricks.

— Jesse Anderson

I imagined what the people in Leh would be like—friendly, gentle, sharp-witted.  I imagined the conversations and exchanges that would take place.  I wasn’t sure what people would think of us being there (a bunch of overly enthusiastic American students with weird ideas about architecture and no clue how to build), and wondered whether or not what we would contribute would be useful or appreciated.  The built legacy of the project aside, I wondered about the sum of interactions between us students and all the people we’d encounter, and what kind of impact that would have on everyone involved.

Once in Leh I realized that  the most intense initial interactions were going on among us students.  The project consumed our time and we had to learn to understand and accept each other quickly, otherwise the building simply wouldn’t get done.  It turns out the cultural differences between Canadians and Americans are really fun to point out (like, Canadians are actually absurdly polite, shy, and have seriously mockable accents) and the unveiling of said differences—some pretty major, some inane—continued on straight to the end of the project.

We were getting to know some people in Leh, but it felt superficial.  The days were long and tiring, and most of us weren’t spending too much time downtown, except for our usual evening culinary ventures to Pizza de Hut, Chopsticks and Bon Appetit.  After a bunch of us discovered Café Jeevan in a quieter part of town, we befriended the waiters there; enough so that they would notice (and show genuine concern) if one of us were missing from the group.  We were regulars.

Some of us were regulars at other types of establishments too, and we quickly endeared ourselves to many a Leh shopkeeper.  A certain student with a prodigious penchant for shopping was practically adopted by a couple different pashmina shop owners.  We all became sons and daughters, beloved customers, sources of entertainment and curiosity.  It didn’t take much.

A fascinating phenomenon at the Druk White Lotus School:  the Friend System.  I had been expecting some regular ol’ address-exchanges and fun times with the kids at the school (and this did happen to some extent), but what mainly materialized was this bizarre, creepy and oft-out-of-control scramble for the kids to each acquire a Friend.  It worked like this:  once a visiting student had been secured as a Friend, we were immediately instructed to not accept any other such Friendships.  The expectation of the Friendship was that you would exchange gifts and letters (my personal favourite gift being a ceramic rhinoceros), “hang out” (ie: your Friend would come find you at the site, say hello, then promptly run away), and eventually become long distance pen pals.

This was all well and good until a second kid approached you, requesting your Friendship; a most delicate situation in which you risk offending both your established Friend and hopeful Friend.  I am personally curious as to the range of responses to this situation, but I think most of us took the honest approach—to say something like “I want to be your Friend, but I think you should know that yesterday, Rinchen asked me to be her friend.  So what do you think?” to which the usual response would be an exchange of sideways glances with accompanying pals (Friend-Seekers never travel alone), a courteous grin and then a head-shake, meaning No Thanks I’ll Try Another One.  I wonder about the reasoning behind this unusual form of monogamy—Increased social status for those with a Friend?  Logistical simplicity?  Territorialism?  Sheer enjoyment of watching us squirm when faced with a potential-of-Friend-unfaithfulness situation?

As is so often the case, the last few days of the project were packed with colourful exchanges:

1. As a group of us formed a production line of willow-oiling and put on some accompanying tunes, an impromptu-mega-dance-party was sparked by the neighbouring workers’ young kiddies who took a liking to an Animal Collective song.  This was much to the surprise, delight, and in some cases what looked like horror, of their hardworking parents.
2. What started as a casual saunter to the town Stupa ended in what was maybe in retrospect a double date with two over-the-top-friendly young Ladakhis, Hassan and Hussein.  We spoke of, Buddhism, language, school, faith.  Unfortunately, our mutually busy schedules didn’t allow for many further exchanges, but they were so eager to spend time with us that they i) came to visit the DWLS and ii) spent a good deal of time on the phone with Pauldon trying to reach us.
3. A few of us spent the last days in the nuns’ space at Naropa, putting together a used-bathroom-tile mosaic for the floor of the Visitors’ Centre.  Turns out the nuns really like mosaics.  As we worked away we had a steady stream of shy, robed visitors providing a constant source of wide smiles and head waggles as they ran their fingers along the tiles.  This felt good.  We were amateur mosaic-builders and as we explained the simple process to the nuns I could tell by all the eye-sparkles that many of them would soon be experts.  We left them our remaining supplies along with the finished piece.  I wish I could see the results of what I foresee to be some virtuosic mosaic-building taking place.

There have been so many candid, funny, warm, and fulfilling interactions with people.   I helplessly wonder about our new friends as I imagine the devastation of the flood and can only feel grateful for the incredible chance we had to enjoy time with them.

– Molly Merriman

It was at 4:00 am the next morning when we heard shouting amidst roaring thunder, marking the moment that the town became aware of a deadly mudslide in the center of Old Leh.

Without a moment’s hesitation, hundreds if not thousands rushed to the affected area on foot to help in the total darkness. While many of the tourists were mobilized to help, there was no match for the immediate preparedness of locals to help one another. All sprang to their feet, from our own hotel owners and staff to our friend and internet cafe proprietor, Lobzang Dorjee, who later delivered a team of Taiwanese medical students associated with the Red Cross to see injured victims. The inability to call a taxi during the following days, as all drivers were donating their time and resources to the relief effort, was another testament to the devotion of Ladakhis to their fellow people. Several cafes, general stores, and internet hubs began to open, solely to serve hungry and stranded tourists.

The next evening, we were evacuated with much of the city to higher ground. Many opted to camp the night at Shanti Stupa; others atop the mountain to the North. The children of Druk Padma Karpo School were safe for several nights camping in Shey Palace, taken care of by devoted nuns and house-mothers. Without a vehicle in which to hide from the cliff-side rain-pour, we were swept off by a military doctor to sleep in a paramilitary base storage room. The peaceful organization of military, people, and relief workers after the flood was all in spite of the unfamiliarity with such a situation- nothing comparable has befallen the city for as long as even the most elderly citizens can remember.

The catastrophe reminds us of the delicate balance struck between the formidable landscape and the way we have chosen to inhabit it. With much of the Ladakh Himalayan region already only open to tourism only 6 months of the year, the people’s primary livelihood may be threatened for a time. Yet Ladakh is a place of piercing beauty, openness, and serenity.  Our hope is that Leh may soon recover, and that we may continue to learn from their way of life. We send our love and thoughts to the families of the several hundred lives lost and over five hundred still missing.

Please continue to monitor http://www.dwls.org/ for updates on the Druk White Lotus School and its students.

We send our love to our colleagues at Druk White Lotus, the school support staff as they return the school to operational status, and our good friend and the Resident Engineer, Anokhee Shah, who remains on site and, with the support of colleagues in the London-based Arup Design Team, will be starting a damage assessment of the buildings and infrastructure, and a risk assessment.  The risk assessment will guide the design and implementation of preventive measures to minimise injury and damage in the event of any future flooding or mudslides. Please follow this link Disaster relief for Ladakh school for Arup’s official news release.

-Allison Hu

The first room we entered was a space to house a 50’ Buddha. At first I didn’t want to take any pictures. I just sat for a while taking it all in.  Everyone else seemed to take pictures so I captured some details that I wanted to remember. The walls told a story of the Buddha. Though I didn’t understand it all, it was still beautiful. Plus the details gave me many ink inspirations.

We spent a couple hours at the first monastery, and we could have spent more. The dark rooms filled with figures and statues captivated my imagination. The cultures of this area have such an interesting take on spirits. Many of the statues faces were covered only to be unveiled for festivals. It was almost a little creepy.

Our guide Sonam told stories of his family spending time there when he was young and explained all the changes that he has seen.  I can’t imagine how different it would be for him, once being one of the young boys playing on the grounds and now taking tourists from all over the world on tours of his home.

The view from Thiksey was amazing; I could have stayed up there all day. I wandered to the top of the building and found a locked library and another closed door with a sign that said, “no ladies allowed” in English and Sanskrit.  Once again, I was reminded how far from home I was.

Anne L’Esperance

Sarah and Christine, both of whom have experience in tensile structures, have capitalized on this opportunity to offer us a tensile construction workshop.  With the majority of us having never worked with tensile structures, we were eager to take advantage of the basic introduction to these types of buildings.  Using rather difficult to find pantyhose and strips of cut t-shirts, we dove right in and explored the ‘wonders’ of double-curvature and catenary structures.

Based on Sergio’s concept, Sarah drew out the basic structure of the parachutes into a design, and we used this as a springboard for our design/build.  We did not proceed without challenges, however; the amorphous nature of fabric, rocks that mysteriously moved by themselves in the night, and the ranging winds of the Himalayas, all made our task more difficult – and more adventurous.

The marriage of the two parachutes to create the necessary double curvature has become quite the process.  It involves the erecting of the tent, creating patterns for openings and apertures, cutting once and cutting again, re-erecting, checking the cuts, re-cutting, stitching, patterning, un-stitching, re-plotting attachment points, color matching, dyeing fabric, re-stitching, re-re-cutting, all the while hoping that whatever mountain specter that has been hanging over our sewing machines would tire of its play and allow us to get some work done.

All in all, our familiarity with fabric has grown and our understanding of what it means to design and build at the same time has been uniquely challenged.  And maybe we will be able to say that we will get it right… right after we erect it for the 223rd time.

Alan Finch

The silliest part of that day by far was lunch. Usually we eat on carpets in the beautiful lunchroom but due to miscommunication, there wasn’t any lunch for us that day.  So everyone headed to the newly opened “Live to Love” café next to our construction site. The cafe is basically a small room where Buddhist nuns sell and serve treats like King Tat bars (India’s alternative to Kit Kat) and homemade momos (a delicious Tibetan dumpling).  The nuns are super sweet and totally rock the shaved head look, but alas, they have not been to restaurant school. So needless to say, when 45 hungry people showed up demanding momos, they were understandably overwhelmed. As the troops began to get more and more restless and the nuns more and more flustered, my classmate Cheryle came up with a great idea: help the nuns cook. I jumped in, along with 4 others, and began kneeding dough, folding momos and stirring thupka (yummy Tibetan soup) under the watchful eye of the nuns. And while I can’t say I memorized the recipes, cooking with those small red-robed nuns was a pretty fantastic experience.

- Samantha Rose

At the same time, the concrete mix used for the bond beam was a bit dry and required an exterior application of a more cementitious rendering, so a group set to work on removing formwork and beautifying the beam with a smoother coat of concrete.  The first course of mud brick has been laid above the new datum of the bond beam.  This is not a task for the faint of heart, since temperatures have been steadily rising throughout the week, and the midday sun intensely bakes whoever dares to leave the relative comfort of the work tents.

The primary structure of the roof assembly consists of 9” diameter poplar poles that act as beams spanning from one wall to the other.  We received our order of de-barked poplars, and because they are a visible interior feature, they require some sprucing up and finishing.  So, a dedicated team began sawing and chiseling away at major knots, sanding over the rough areas, and scrubbing the well-ingrained dirt away with an exfoliating mix of water, gravel and sand.  We couldn’t have done it without the help of some of our new friends – a group of sixth grade girls who are much more thorough in their work than we are! Once squeaky-clean, the poplars have undergone a protective treatment of linseed oil, a local, natural alternative to conventional varnishes.

Next came the secondary roof structure:  thousands (yes, thousands) of slim, polished willow sticks that are laid precisely side-by-side between poplar beams to form the ceiling sheath.  When the truck arrived with an entire load of willow sticks, we realized it would be a big task to prepare them for the building. And when the truck brought a second load, essentially doubling the number of sticks, we gasped and then kicked into high gear. We put most of the team on “willow duty”: linseed oil finishing followed by sawing all of the sticks down to the proper size. By some miracle, all of the willow is now ready and looking gorgeous.

In the meantime, there has been heavy production happening in the woodworking area:  windows, doors, cabinetry and skylights have all put demand on the limited tools and power available.  The double doors and mullioned corner windows are being constructed along with the beginnings of the custom cabinetry and plywood skylight boxes. Another team has been working steadily this week on a mosaic – depicting the school’s “Live to Love” symbol – to be placed in the center of the floor.

Finally, another big landmark was reached when the carved timber beam was fixed into place atop our now beautiful concrete bond beam.  This was an exciting moment, and gave our roofless building a feeling of inhabitance and coziness:  good incentive to keep working hard to get that roof completed in the last week!

Alan and I worked on rebar cages from the first bend and knew we had to finish the final two cages early in the afternoon in order to pour in one day and avoid a cold joint. Most students lent a hand to finish the cages while a smaller group of students and Ladakhi craftsmen finished the form work. A few of us began a proportional mix of the dry ingredients – four parts gravel, two parts sand, one part cement – to be ready to pour by the early afternoon.

To run the pour smoothly, we split into groups: ten people mixing the dry concrete with a steady flow of water, about fifteen people passing pans of the mix, and the remaining students on scaffolding dumping and leveling the pans of concrete into the formwork.  I spent the first ninety minutes with a shovel combining the dry mix with water. When my back started to give out, I joined the dish passing line and eventually ended up on the scaffolding, pouring the dishes of wet concrete, while others made sure it was level with the line snapped inside the form work.

Five in the afternoon – our usual time to end the work day – came and went. The group picked up the pace in an effort to finish the pour by the seven o’clock sunset.  Our spirits lifted as Sergio called out the half-way point. By this time most of us had worked at each job position.  The team began to work more smoothly, and the two groups pouring atop the scaffolding closed in on each other. I called out to those mixing that we were nearing the end. Of course, the concrete mixing crew nearly killed us when we told them only twenty more pans…maybe three times. Finally, though, we poured the last dish of concrete shortly after seven o’clock, just as the sun set behind the mountains. We all celebrated briefly before hastily cleaning up.

An air of achievement and contentment surrounded us on the bus trip home, as did backaches, sunburns, and blisters. The ride was again made more beautiful by the late hour and vivid colors of the sky.  We all scrambled to shower and find a comfortable restaurant to sit and enjoy a late dinner, and for the first time this whole month, everyone in the group headed straight for bed.

- Brian Ritzinger

We used a fire line of every available body to move a pile of bricks closer to our foundation and then had a quick lesson on how to lay mudbrick. We grabbed trowels, bricks and gloves, and sent a few from the team to mix mud.  As novice bricklayers, we found ourselves occasionally replacing rows, re-mixing mortar, and chipping away at malformed bricks. Eventually, though, we became more facile with using the plumb bob and recognizing the desired Jello-O pudding consistency of mud mortar. And course by course, our walls continued to rise.

Meanwhile, the wood team was hard at work constructing the frames for the windows and doors. Restricted to mortise and tenon joints (no nails or glue), the work was slow and required a fair amount of “figuring.” As soon as the frames were complete, we integrated them into the thick wall construction and laid brick around them.

As our skills improved, so did our pace, and within a few days the walls reached a height too tall even for our vertically endowed Norwegian. A few bricklayers peeled off from the group to construct Ladakhi style scaffolding.

With design/build projects like ours, the designs continue to develop during construction. Our skylight, cabinetry, window, and porch teams have been busy at work fleshing out ideas and designs, sometimes staying up late into the night to complete drawings. With each new detail, we have to be sure we can continue to build without affecting the walls.

Meanwhile, a team of dedicated wood carvers began creating a beautiful design on the feature pine timber beam that will be dividing the entry space from the gallery space.  Drawing from traditional symbols like the lotus flower, the beam will have a different motif on each side, providing a touch of handcrafted ornament to the space.

As we approached the height of the concrete bond beam, a rebar crew began forming the rebar cages for the beam. We tried the Ladakhi tools of rock and mallet for cutting through rebar to make sticks and stirrups, but found greater success with a hack saw and several dozen blades. We did, however, use the traditional method of bending steel rebar using a pipe and a log full of short, rigid sticks of rebar. Finally with a bent nail, a willow measuring stick, fine wire and a lot of patience, we tied together long rebar cages for the reinforcement of the concrete bond beam.

With lots of anticipation and excitement, we made the final preparations for the big milestone thus far in the project: pouring the concrete bond beam. Facing a 12-hour day of hard work, we all got to bed early, no doubt dreaming of rebar cages, formwork, and endless concrete mixing.

Three short weeks have passed since we all gathered in Ladakh to begin acclimatizing to the altitude and designing our building. We arrived armed with ideas, sketchbooks, and a shared interest in learning how to design and build in a climate and culture that is so different from our own. So much of the design process has been completely new to us, from designing by committee of forty-four, to drafting out ideas on an uneven wood floor without our standard design tools, to making decisions based on the limited availability of building materials. Discussions have been extensive, at times heated, but ultimately we arrived at a design that we are all excited about building.

To help inform our design, we began with a tour of old Leh with a local tour guide for the Ladakhi Heritage Center. Each of us captured our observations with pictures and sketches, absorbing the vernacular architecture as we began imagining the Visitors’ Center. The following day, the entire group toured the Druk White Lotus School for the morning and reconvened in the late afternoon. With our sketches of Old Leh’s architecture and its modern interpretation in the school’s design, we felt prepared to begin our work. Dividing into teams of five, we spent the afternoon developing initial proposals, complete with plans, sections, elevations, and perspective sketches. For many of us, this was our first experience designing with a team of strangers. Before dinner that evening, each team presented its proposal, and as a group, we summed up the similarities, successes, and potential issues. From this list, we prioritized project goals to help inform our second round of design ideas.

The next morning, each group revised ideas, combining with other similar groups and further developing proposals. After a second round of presentations and discussion, we were all beginning to narrow our design ideas to a few basic concepts.

One more round of exploration with light-study models helped us make decisions, yet it raised still more questions. We knew that some decisions could be made later on, but there still remained some critical issues that needed to be resolved before any construction could begin. Window and door placement, for example, had to be determined, and opinions about this issue were varied and strong. After everyone had a chance to voice their thoughts on the critical points (yes, we even got to the point of hand-raising to keep decorum) we concluded that the only way to make these decisions was on the site.

With everyone seated around our pre-poured foundation wall, we mimicked the three final proposals, using our bodies as walls, doors and windows to get a sense of the space. Using good old-fashioned voting, we settled on a scheme that allowed us to start laying brick and framing windows and doors for the Visitors’ Center.