Seven days in Tibet - boy

For us, this tour was to see an interesting part of the world rarely seen by tourists and a chance to be driven through some of the most incredible scenery in the world. For our tour company, it was a mission to seeing how many 'porkies' they could squeeze into a single tour. In the end, they managed to fulfil about 80% of their promises and overcharge us only by a small amount so by Nepalese standards this was a solid deal and we thought ourselves lucky. Indeed, other members of our tour were certainly more put out than we were by similar false promises and gross overcharging. The Tibetan half of the enterprise blames the Nepalese half and I've no doubt the Nepalese say the same. After comparing mine (and others) anecdotal experience of dealings with taxi-drivers, companies and vendors in both countries I can't help but side with the Tibetans on this one.

 

A variety of people from different countries, dispositions and humours assembled around the location of the tour company. We were shown to the usual decrepit Nepalese transportation and after much "but I thought you said...", "we paid for..." and one very late arrival we were on our way to the border. Leaving Nepal was quick and easy, entering Tibet less so but still relatively uncomplicated.

 

The imposing main gateway that is the Chinese side of the border reflects immediately that you are crossing into a more developed nation that Nepal - which is not saying much. On the inner sides of the gate Chinese guards stand officiously on glass bordered pedestals like toy soldiers on display (which I later discovered is fairly typical). The book and picture check, which aims to confiscate any contaminating or subversive material such as anything to do with Tibet or the Dalai Lama, went painlessly enough and within an hour we were through Chinese customs and chowing down on sub-standard Chinese food in a fly infested border-town restaurant.

 

Our first stop (just under 4000m) in Nyalam was a little too much for me despite the altitude pill I'd taken. Damp cold dormitories and ice cold bathrooms are not comforting environments for heads that feel like they're on the brink of exploding and by the morning I felt bleary and drained. When we left, the bus felt like an ice box despite multiple layers of clothing and it became colder still as the terrain changed to white; on our way to the first of two passes over 5000m. I did notice that the scenery was stunning in my semi-conscious sleep-deprived state and even managed to fall out the bus in the relevant places to take photos (and walk around disjointedly). By the late afternoon we had passed our second 5000m pass and I started to feel human again (probably when the dozen or so painkillers finally kicked in) ironically the moment where many on the tour started to suffer from the altitude. I have hazy memories of passing through a vast expanse of desolate mountainous terrain with many festooned stupas, solitary tents, an attractive view of Everest and the odd Tibetan village; all stops being interspersed with fitful delusional sleep and loud monotonous Chinese music that the driver thought we should listen to until someone requested he turn it down or stop.

 

The small town of Shigatse, and our first room in a hotel, was extremely welcome. C grabbed the first key offered which allowed me to score one of the few hot showers secured by anybody during our two day stay there.

 

Shigatste gave us our first taste of the Tibetan chapels, which is also the taste of yak's butter and incense. A similar "real" Tibetan temple experience can be recreated by using a dimly lit room with dozens (if not hundreds) of buddhas looking inwards, a small chorten or buddha in the middle to walk around (clockwise), yak's butter candles, bowls filled with water (seven at least) and piles of money distributed in various places. For added effect you can add a sprinkling of monks, nuns and swastikas for decoration, drums and incense for ambiance and murmuring pilgrims for legitimacy; those outside should be prostrating while those inside should be forcing their way mindlessly through the inevitable queues that build up inside these overcrowded places. A "session" for the monks in the main hall of a monastery seemed to involve more murmuring, chanting, giggling for the younger ones, rocking backwards and forwards and the dribbling of Yak's butter tea into bottles (either saving it for later or saving it to be disposed of later).

 

We were already suffering from a mild case of chapel fatigue before visiting the monastery in Gyanste and climbing up the Gyanste Kumbum - a chorten described as an architectural wonder with dozens more chapels inside - only worsened our condition. Our next hotel's architectural phenomenon, making the rooms a number of degrees lower in temperature than the outside, was impressive too. Fortunately, a Tibetan soup restaurant provided hearty soups that gave us a few minutes respite from the chill, enough time to put multiple layers on before hopping into bed.

 

Our next drive took us past more incredible scenery and terrain en route to Lhasa where on arrival we noticed a large military and police presence (even on the roofs of buildings in some places). They were very helpful in giving us directions to streets and restaurants but I suspect they were there in a larger capacity than to help tourists find their way.

 

The old residence of the 14^th Dalai Lama (Potala Palace) was lifeless and dull on the inside but photogenic on the outside. C managed to contract (what Dr Wiki describes as) bacterial conjunctivitis and we cancelled further chapel visits in favour of obtaining medicine. A guy at the hotel, trying to help, rushed us to a Tibetan nun doctor (term used loosely here) who glanced at C and started choosing pills for C to take. Our obvious question was "What is in the pills?" "Oh, good things only" our hotel guy replied. C interjected "I'm not taking these pills if I don't know what's in them". Our hotel guy, surprised by our concerns, says "Pill is ok .... Nun says don't eat tomato or garlic". We say "Ok, thanks for your help - bye." We realised afterwards that we should have specified a 'western doctor' so we asked for one and eventually, though a combination of the guide book and his help, found a hospital that practiced 'western medicine'. The hospital was of course equipped with a 'people's reporter ready to take 'people's pictures for the 'people's press. The doctor who examined C didn't want this and nor did C so we shooed him out the room and blocked the door. Later our group visited a Tibetan medicine factory whose main selling point was that approximately 2000 years ago a man lived to 125 using Tibetan medicine. We found out afterwards in the museum that this man, if he existed, must have lived 700 years before Tibetan medicine was founded. I shouldn't be surprised really.

 

The next day brought with it yet another monastery, this time the main event was not chapels but monks "debating", which they did in small groups. From an observers point of view (and one that cannot possibly assess the breadth and depth of the subject discussed) I saw a lot of emphasis and energy expended on the technique of clapping which they do (very stylishly) to make a point. It's a little puzzling to watch because many of the monks seem to focus on the 'exaggerated clap' part and less on the 'talking' part. Maybe I've misinterpreted debating here or maybe there's simply nothing to talk about (because the most interesting topics are off limits)?

 

Our last attractions in Lhasa were The Jokhang (the one we previously missed due to C's eye issue) and the Tibet Museum just to ensure we were sufficiently 'filled up' on religion and propaganda. Since most of the group had left Lhasa by this time we were free to wander around The Jokhang temple alone. Judging from the tired enthusiasm of the others I think we were lucky to see it with practically no other tourists inside. The whole place pulsed with archaic ceremony: From the mass of genuflecting bodies outside and queue of pilgrims inside to the semi-dark rancid zone of yak's butter and incense where within, one can only hear the steady beat of a drum and murmuring of a thousand desperate souls. I half expected Indiana Jones to push his way in through the half-dazed throng of believers, find a secret passage and make off with a golden Buddha.