On the icy bed of the river that only runs when the glaciers are melting, dominated by immense mountains streaked by intense colors, a small cone of rock rises. It looks like a giant hand casually placed it there. There on its top is a Buddhist monastery.
The three small villages that sprouted up around the monastery live according to an ancient timetable that only marks two seasons. There is the summer season–all too short–during which shepherds, goats, and yak roam searching for faraway pastures in this high altitude desert, and a winter season, long and bitter, which shapes the faces and forges the very existence of the people of Rangdum. Winter brings two meters of snow, temperatures that plunge 20 degrees below freezing, and total and endless isolation from the rest of the world.