About a decade ago, maybe more, when we worked in dot-coms, my wife got a pair of passes to the Seattle International Film Festival. We saw a lot of movies, of which I only remember 3 now - The Opposite of Sex, because it was the opening night film; Firelight, because it was just a beautiful movie to watch; and The Salt Men of Tibet, because it was just weird.
Three things stood out in particular with Salt Men...There was a scenic shot that lasted about five minutes. The camera was placed on a cliff top or the side of a hill, showing a breathtaking valley a thousand feet below and sweeping off into the distance. It was like the color version of something Ansel Adams might have shot. And we just stared at the screen, waiting for something to happen. Waiting. Suddenly, there was a tiny puff of dust near the bottom of the screen, and the audience realized we were watching a herd of yaks cross the valley. For another three or four minutes. Riveting.
The second was that these guys spend six months of the year on the salt flats, raking salt so it dries.
The third was a bizarre sexist ritual. They have to cross a river to get to the salt plain, and once they cross the river, they can only speak the salt language, a secret language that only the men know. When asked if a woman could ever be a salt gatherer, one of the guys looked incredulous, "They don't speak the salt language, so they'd never be able to cross the river."
"Could you teach them the salt language?"
"They don't speak the salt language."
So anyway, we were at a little shop of odd things and stumbled across Himalayan Salt, from this very place, and alleged to have mystical, healthful properties. We had to get it. Y'know what? Tastes like salt. But the big, bouldery grains make it a pleasure to pinch out of the dish.
