I arrived at Pin Valley in the second week of October, when the harvest was already done and the road to Kaza had shed most of its tourists. The bus dropped me at a crossroads with no phone signal and a hand-painted sign that said “Guesthouse — 200m.” That sign belonged to Tenzin, a monk in partial retirement who had decided, eight years ago, that the best way to keep his monastery's kitchen garden alive was to feed strangers.
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