Tawa certainly deserves more of a mention, because despite not speaking a word of English, his presence loomed large over our trip. A tall, lean, Tibetan man of indeterminate age, Tawa was prone to barks of hysterical, guttural laughter (especially when I thanked him for things), and had a speaking voice that rarely went below a shout. This made him seem perpetually angry, as NO MATTER WHAT SOMEONE IS SAYING, IF THEY ARE SPEAKING TO YOU LIKE THIS, IT SEEMS AS IF THEY ARE ANGRY WITH YOU OR AT LEAST VERY UPSET ABOUT SOMETHING! Tawa would also occasionally (for no reason or pattern that I could discern) occasionally pull on a pair of white, woolen gloves liike Mr. Hands from Treasure Island. I would like to explicitly state that this resemblamce is merely superficial, and I am in no way implying that Tawa was a murderous sociopath.
Tawa loved the horn on our minibus. When takilng hairpin turns in the mountains, it is a good idea to give the horn a toot to let oncoming traffic know you're there (in fact there are even signs reminding motorists to do so), but Tawa took this rather logical idea several thousand steps further: he honked when passing people,, he honked when people passed us, he honked at oncoming traffic completely within its own lane, he honked at pedestrians who dlearly had no intention of entering the road, he honked at yaks, cows, and other livestock, he honked at pretty girls, and once, just outside of Lhasa, I swear he honked at a fallen tree limb at the side of the road.
Leaving Lhasa we followed the Brahmaputra River along the "Friendship Highway" that eventually winds its way all the way south to Kathmandu, Nepal. Soon we started seeing ladder-like patterns painted on the cliffs alongside the road. According to Jesse, these indicated sky burials that had been conducted. In a land where soil for burial is scarce, and wood for cremation is even scarcer, sky burials remain the preferred method for dealing with the dead. In a sky burial, the body is kept for three days so the spirit can pass through the levels of Bardo, the period between death amd rebirth. Then the body is broken (apparently it can fit into quite a small space once the spine is broken) and carried to the burial site by a dutro (friend). At the site (the top of a nountain) special attendants called rogyapas cut the hair of the deceased, and then cut the body into pieces. They pound the bones together with roasted barley flower to make the remains more palatable for the vultures! These ceremonies are designed to reflect the impermanence of life, and there is little sadness associated with them. This same attitude also explains why you will see so many artifacts here made from human skulls. It seems like such a simple and elegant way to deal with the dead, and its fascinating to think about how the desolate geography of Tibet directly affected its culture. See graphic pictures here, and especially here. Don't say I didn't warn you!
Moving on, we ascended the first of many high passes in our minibus, and where afforded our first views of Yamdrok-tso, one of Tibet's holiest lakes. Honking horns aside, this was the quiestest place we had yet experienced in Tibet, although this stillness was soon shattered by busloads of chinese tourists angaging in whatever the chinese equivalent of yodeling is.
It was much nicer, and less Chinese-touristy from this vantage point
Moving on we continued to ascend and descend passes between different river valleys, often driving literally through the clouds in order to reach the top. We soon arrived at Kharalo Glacier which extended another 1000 m or so above us into the clouds.
I took a lot of pictures of it so one day I can explain to my grandchildren what a glacier was, and that all of Asia was not always am arid, desertified wasteland. (That check is in the mail once these Himalayan glaciers go for good.)
There were also traditional women and beribboned yaks posing for pictures for money. Ordinarily I hate paying people for pictures, but I had already taken a few of the yak,
The picture that cost me 8 entire dollars.
so I was kind of obligated. I ended up paying more than I should have (about 8 dollars), and was a little upset, but realized that they weren't laughing over my foreigner gullibility back at their mansions, so I relaxed a bit.
As we moved deeper into the interior, we saw Tibet at its most lovely: crystal clear blue skies looking down over acres and acres of yellow-flowered barely fields,
Barley Fields
distant mountains framing tiny mud brick villages. As we moved into the heights again, the landscape became more desolate, but no less beautiful. We saw nomad encampemts and free range yak herds. Rushing rivers tumbled down from impossibly high peaks, whose summits nonetheless seemed close at hand due to the elevation of the road itself.
We also saw the less picturesque side of Tibet: there's a very laissez faire attitude toward littering here, so there's garbage everywhere. The Chinese influence is strong so there is lots of construction everywhere (villages seem to spit the difference between rubble and construction), and there where many occasions where the landscape seemed freshly bulldozed. Ah, "progress," is there nothing you can't tear down and make "better?"
Soon we pulled into the town of Gyangtse. There we visited the Panchu monastery which was memorable for housing the burial stupa of the first Pamchen Lama in a multi-leveled, Guggenheim-like level.
Panchu had very few pilgrims, but lots of working, chanting monks which definitely added to the ambiance. Leaving town, there is an impressive, medieval looking fort thing that looms over the road. We asked Jesse if it was an old palace, and he respomded, "not palace, but where the king lived." which sums up his english much better than I ever could.
"Not palace, but where King lived."
Next was Shigatse, the traditional seat of the Panchen Lamas. Unlike Lhasa, Shigatze was heavily damaged during the Cultural Revolution, and it looks it. There is no charming old quarter there, just block after block of drab concrete buildings, 75 percent of which seemed dedicated to selling either motorbikes, or major home appliances such as refridgerators or washing machines.
We visited the Tashilanpo Monastery, home to the stupas of the 9th and 10th Panchen Lamas. This trip has been quite an education for me, Buddhism wise. Apparently the Dalai Lama is more of a political leader in Tibet, and the Panchen Lama, although slightly secondary, is still an incredibly important spiritual leader. This lead to rivalries between the two positions (I love thinking that even Buddhists lust for power at times. Religion aside, human nature is human nature.) for hundreds of years until it was finally decided that each would have a hand in choosing the other, thus establishing a series of checks and balances between the two. When the 10th Panchen Lama died in 1989, the Dalai Lama named a boy of 5 as his successor. The boy and his family were promptly swept up by the Chinese authorities, and have not been seen in public since. Most people believe that when this Dalai Lama dies, the Chinese will trot out their own fully brainwashed and indocrinated Panchen Lama, who will, in turn, name a pro-Chinese Panchen Lama. Creepy.
The next day we were up early and on our way to Everest Base Camp, 360 km away. Before leaving we enjoyed a traditional Tibetan breakfast of yak butter tea (like spoiled milk only warmer and saltier!) and barley flour. Apparently you are suppossed to take a small amount of flour into your mouth, then a sip of tea, and allow the two to form a sort of porridge in your mouth before swallowing. It was quite disgusting, although I will say that having a mouthful of rapidly congealing barley flour in my mouth is about the only thing in the world that would make me want to take another sip of yak butter tea. I will miss many things about Tibet, but Yak Butter tea is not one of them.
Yak Butter Tea: Get it while it's hot, salty, and rancid!
We entered what I refer to as "The Checkpoint Zone." Readers, if I didn't make this clear earlier, it is not easy to travel in Tibet. Since the pro-independence demonstrations of 2008, the Chinese have become very strict about what you need to do to travel here. You can only travel a spart of an organized tour, you need tourist letters, and an "Alien Visitor's Permit." And, as you near Everest, you need to stop time and again to have these documents checked by Chinsese soldiers. Going there and back, we probably endured 12 checkpoints. Some were so close together that I can't imagine where we would have snuck in since the last checkpoint.
The soldiers seemed like little more than bored children (at one checkpoint, his uniform was so ill-fitting that it seemed like a costume), but after listlessly going over our passports and papers we were always waved through.
Hilarious, yet socially insightful caption
I tried to take a picture of the queue at the final checkpoint but a soldier came and made me delete it! I don't know what sort of top secret information I might have accidentally captured (I seriosly only wanted to take a picture of the line), but I have found that it's best not to argue when confronted with agents of a ruthless and brutal autocracy.
Everest is about 360 km away from Shigatse, one covers the first 270 or so along the "Friendship Highway" in 3 hours, and the last 90 on a rutted dirt road up and over several passes in 3 hours as well. The road is butt-busting, but well worth enduring. As we neared tent city, the presence of Everest became more and more palpable. It was overcast, so our views weren't great, but the air was getting thinner and thinner, and there was no doubt that we were fast (ok, 30 km/hr, hardly fast) approaching the roof of the world.
We passed Ronpu Monastery, Tibet's, and therefore the world's, highest monastery which lies directly in the shadow of Everest,
Ronpu Monastary
and finally pulled into tent city. I don't know if it has any other name, but it is composed of 50 or so quasi permannet nomad style tents. Each is its own "hotel" and "restaurant" and the owners stood outside beckoning in each jeep and tour group to arrive. We ended up at the Gong Ke, run by a very nice woman and her two young daughters.
Tent City
L to R: our hero, "Jesse", Tawa (love the exprssion on his face). Center: Proprietress moving faster than they human eye can follow.
(Speaking of, have I discussed Tibetan "diapers" yet? All children under potty training age seem to wear pants with giant open flies in the back. Therefore, instead of soiling their cothes, when they need to go, they have only to squat where the urge strikes them. Gross, but also ingenius, if you ask me.) The "hotel" consisted of padded benches surrounding a central stove that ran on a surprisingly not horrible smelling amount of yak dung.
It's (slightly) less gross when you remember that there's no wood to burn.
The altitude was very taxing, and it was difficult to move anywhere at all, much less quickly.
As the afternoon wore on, the weather cleared and we got our first uninterrupted views of the summit. What can I say about it? It was magnificent, mezmerizing, awe-inspiring, and humbling. All of these things are true, but at the same time woefully inadequate. I feel like I'm taking the Lovecraft (he was prone to describe things as indescribably horrible) way out here, but it will take a better writer than I to fully describe what it's like to stand looking on the highest mountain in the world.
The next morning we were herded into buses and driven towar the Base Camp. We disembarked right before the final checkpoint, and then jhiked the rest of the way in. Even in July, the season must be over, because there were no tents, just more bored and listless soldiers perfunctorily going over our passports and perits. If anything, the weather was eve better that morning, and our views of the summit were crystal clear. As I stood gasping for breath at 16,000 feet, I wondered how anyone could make it up another 13,000 feet to the summit! Seeing Everest remains one of the most magificent things I have ever done, and the rest of China will have a lot to live up to.
Two long bus ride days later, we were back in Lhasa, and this morning we flew to Shangri La in Yunnan Province. We're looking to do more trekking here, and I'll update as I can. I'll end this post with some of the hundred or so different pictures of this planet's highest point that I took:
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