Traveling in Tibet     May 12-21, 1998

   After a grim all night train ride to Chengdu, in Szechuan Province, we
flew from there to the Lhasa airport on China Southwest Airlines. Instead
of going directly to the big city, we drove in the other direction, down
the Yarlung Tsangpo River (called the Brahmaputra further downstream in
India), to stay two nights in the town of Tsetang.

   Along the river, barley fields looked sparse and unhealthy. It was six
degrees celsius when we landed in the middle of the day, which can't help.
Anna, our Tibetan guide, said they also grow potatoes, wheat and rape seed,
but only have one growing season. Willows are planted in the flood plain,
apparently to hold the soil and provide some wood. The side of the road
opposite the river was a desert of sand and rocks, the mountains dry, gray
and desolate.

   The only paved highway we saw in Tibet was from the airport to Tsetang (93
km.) and from the airport to Lhasa (97 km.). Our five day overland drive to
the Nepalese border from Lhasa was on one-lane gravel and dirt roads, often
almost impassable.

   The driver of our small bus (about 18 seats for 14 people) did not inspire
confidence. He passed a car almost immediately and neglected to return to
our lane. Sitting in one of the front seats, we observed an oncoming car
getting closer and closer until our driver gave a jerk, apparently
remembering at the last second he was supposed to do something, and moved
over just in time. We drove by three wrecks on the road:  a car on its roof
in the middle of the road, a truck upended in the ditch, and a truck nose
down in the ditch. Anna said wrecks are common because unlicenced and
inexperienced drivers "drive fast".  We decided to push for a replacement
driver and succeeded just before leaving Lhasa. The unpleasantness involved
in that was fully justified later as we drove up precipitous passes and
along cliffs with an excellent driver.

   Tsetang is a small town with only one main street, about ten blocks long.
It was interesting because we could observe the division of the two main
cultures in Tibet so clearly. Great numbers of Han Chinese have moved into
Lhasa and other cities, especially soldiers and business people. This is a
very effective way to dominate: the Han Chinese definitely outnumber
Tibetans in the cities now, and, in the future, could outnumber total
Tibetans in the country. There are several large army encampments in and
outside of Tsetang, and a huge army presence in Lhasa, where there was an
uprising in 1989. Tibet is clearly occupied territory, in contrast to
Yunnan Province, where we saw no military presence. In Tsetang, the Chinese
have built a few huge new buildings which appeared empty, a couple of
tourist hotels, and paved a very wide and very deserted main street through
town. Traffic cops were stationed at the only intersection to direct the
one or two vehicles which might happen by. Very humble Chinese shops line
this street.

   Off the main street, behind the commercial buildings, on dusty little
lanes, are where the Tibetans live. Their houses are very small, made of
clay, rocks and homemade bricks. Pigs, yaks, chickens and scrawny cattle
stand around in the tiny bare dirt yards. Piled on the roofs are chunks of
wood, hay and dried stacks of dung patties. Drying on the walls facing the
sun are damp, round patties of cattle dung, which they use for fires.
Apparently, yak dung is usually put back into the soil, while cattle dung
is prized for cooking and heating. As in India, cattle are sacred and never
killed in Tibet and penalties for killing a cow are almost as severe as for
killing a human. Anna said Tibetans believe when cattle dung burns, it has
properties that drive evil spirits out. Yak dung is just plain manure.

   On top of every one of these dirt colored, drab little homes are colorful
prayer flags. A willow-like piece of tree with various branches is tied to
a corner of the flat roof, and about five sets of prayer flags are tied
vertically onto it, always in the same order. Each set of prayer flags has
these five colors, from top to bottom:  blue (represents the sky), white
(clouds or air), red (fire), green (water) and yellow (earth). Prayer flags
are for good luck, Anna says. There are prayers printed on them, however,
and I read that the wind wafts these prayers up to the proper destination
and that the prayers are more important than the colors or the good luck
part. However, it is certain that the Tibetans could use a great deal of
good luck. These splashes of color on every humble brown home seem brave
and hopeful. Somehow, the flags transform a grim scene of subjugated,
poverty stricken people into something almost beautiful.

   Prayer flags are everywhere. They festoon every Tibetan building, every
bridge and crossing of every river we saw in Tibet. The distinctive cloth
flaps on top of every hill and mountain. Because no Chinese home or
building has them, the flags declare a Tibetan identity, stand as
statements of difference and maybe even defiance. The Chinese have chosen
not to squash the prayer flag displays.

   It is against Chinese law to visibly display any photo or picture of the
current Dalai Lama. Nevertheless, Anna told us that every home, every
temple and every monastery has these photos hidden from the eyes of
soldiers and Chinese "spies."

   We wandered through the dusty lanes, the only foreigners around. An old
woman and her husband (probably they were younger than we are, really), who
were spinning and carding wool on their minuscule porch, directed us up a
hill to a temple on a tiny path littered with chunks of yak hide, old
shoes, plastic, and stinking of urine. Garbage is everywhere in Tibetan
villages, settlements, yards and lanes. The little river that runs through
town is almost completely covered with plastic bags and bottles, bits of
cloth and a few bones.

   Tibetan culture has clearly not placed any value on clean bodies and
clothes. Villagers, nomads and farmers we saw were astonishingly filthy.
Clearly, they had never bathed or washed their clothes, perhaps in a
lifetime. One woman had a face so entirely coated with grease, dirt, smoke
that it was flaking off. Tibetans wear many layers of clothes and sleep in
them on dirty mats on the floor. Pilgrims to Lhasa from the outlying areas
reeked in the confines of the small spaces we shared near statues in the
monasteries. Some Tibetans, like our guide Anna, who live in cities and
want good jobs, have adopted Chinese and western ideas of cleanliness. They
also must have learned the Chinese language, which is taught along with
Tibetan in the schools. (Anna remains a dedicated Buddhist and a Tibetan
nationalist, while cooperating enough to provide for her family. She asked
us not to quote her or tell anyone anything she said that was subversive.)

   Tibetans may be dirty from our point of view, but they are tremendously
and univerally friendly. Everyone we passed gave us huge smiles. In
Tsetang, and everywhere else we went, they responded to our hellos ("tashi
dele" in our best Tibetan) with pleasure. Occasionally, an old woman would
give us the traditional Tibetan greeting, sticking her tongue way out.

   Our first of many monastery visits was out of Tsetang on a terrible dusty
road through extremely poor and desperate looking rural settlements. The
monastery was on top of a hill, with about a hundred steps leading up to
it. This was the first fitness test for people in the group and more than
half of the fourteen people were not fit enough to climb this without
difficulty and many complaints. A bummer for us to find out our Eldertreks
group should actually be renamed Elder Cripples. EVERY monastery is on a
hill and requires climbing up ladder-like steps, and even to different
levels of the buildings once inside. The lack of fitness in the group was a
constant drag.

   Not far from Tsetang, up the river a little, we had a great experience. We
drove to the boat landing across the river from the Sangye Monastery, and
were ferried across in a freight boat. It was a wide, heavy plank, thirty
foot, open boat with no seats, but with some struts to lean on, with a
diesel motor on the back (the same one used on the little tractors). Ahead
of us, a similar boat had a four wheel drive car sitting on two planks set
crossways on the gunwales (when they got to the other side, then just
gunned it and jumped it onto the bank). The Yarlung Tsampo River wasn't
more than a half mile wide, but it was low water, so it took an hour and a
half to weave among sandbars before landing a few miles upriver from the
monastery. There waiting for us, surprisingly, was a large blue cattle
truck. We stood in back, hanging on as we careened through sand dunes,
picking up a few Tibetans on the way. Arrival at the monastery was like a
medieval scene. A tall flashy gold roofed temple came into view, then we
pulled into the cobblestone courtyard amid tied yaks, red robed, and dogs
lying in the sun.  About 300 monks live there now, though they numbered in
the thousands before the Chinese takeover. In fact, 20% of the population
of Tibet used to be in monasteries and nunneries, an important factor in
keeping down population growth. In this isolated area, where there would be
plenty of advance notice of Chinese visitors, monks displayed photos of the
Dalai Lama openly, the only ones we saw in Tibet. (Visitors are always
getting thrown out of the country for trying to bring in these pictures.)

   Inside this monastery (and in every other temple and monastery we saw),
the light was dim. Benches where monks pray and meditate had piles of red
cloth laden with years of yak butter grease and candle smoke. The stairway
railings and steps were slick with yak butter. Some monks rolled wicks to
stick into vats of yak butter. Hundreds of flickering candles burned with a
distinctive smell. Other monks used white yak butter, which is surprisingly
hard, similar to parafin, to make sculptures, which are painted, then
displayed for a year. Chunks of extra yak butter were piled in buckets and
bins and basins. Some, including me, think this is a tremendous waste of
precious food in a country with so few resources. But, then, I am a
non-believer and think many religious practices are a waste of people
resources, too. The Chinese certainly think so, but have chosen to reduce,
not eliminate monks, and allow the yak butter use to continue. As a
practical matter, pilgrims can buy a cheaper substitute, a vegetable
product in yellow bags imported from Nepal, which they bring to the
temples, adding chunks to the large candle basins as part of their
offerings. But we saw and smelled plenty of real yak butter.

   Hundreds of large prayer wheels are lined up in every monastery and
Buddhists spin them clockwise by pushing on wooden handles at the bottom.
Most are over a foot high, and some larger prayer wheels have a piece of
wire sticking out at the top which hits a bell once for each revolution. A
few are very large ( one we saw later in Kathmandu was perhaps twenty feet
high, but still easy to spin).

   We gave our boxed lunches to the monks, who were delighted to get amazing
stuff like apples and hard-boiled eggs.

   In Lhasa, we were suitably impressed with the Potala, a great sight high
on its hill. It has 1,000 rooms, and we were glad Anna was there to lead us
up steep staircases, around corners, and into little rooms with many
statues of the previous thirteen Dalai Lamas (the fifth was especially
important), Buddhas (smiling or with hands in different positions), Panchen
Lamas and various wives (a few important monks can marry). Another box
lunch passed out to the monks, many of whom are very young and very keen
for the food. When we got to the last stairs leading to the roof of the
Potala, there was a charge of ten yuan to go up (the equivalent of about
one U.S. dollar). Everyone in our group paid this with no complaint, but
Richard refused. No way was he going to pay one whole dollar to go up on
the roof. This was funny and stupid because the rest of us were up there
loving the view and thinking that was the best part and he was down at the
bottom of the stairs grumping and pouting.  Finally, we were up there so
long, he came up and said, "I succumbed," but never admitted it was a great
spot. He was one of four monumental losers in the group.  We are
recommending to the tour company they be blacklisted forever.

   We also went to Lhasa's Sera Monastery where we saw  monk debates.  This
occurs every afternoon there (and also frequently in other monasteries).
Hundreds of monks gathered in the courtyard outside to practice the lessons
learned that morning by asking and answering philosophical questions with a
partner. The one who sat on the ground was supposed to answer the question.
The other stood and asked the question. To get attention, the one standing
used a stylized and theatrical move. He clapped his hands loudly,
continuing with a fluid gesture to bring the top hand up into the air and
at the same time, stepping forward. The same motion, followed by moving a
string of prayer beads up his arm to his shoulder, drives away the devil. A
hundred or more monks doing this while calling out questions and answers
made quite a noise. To our teacher eyes, some were goofing off and might
not do well when they try to pass tests on the material later.

   Still in Lhasa, we visited the Drepung Monastery, built in 1416. It used
to house 10,000 monks and was the largest monastery in Tibet before the
Chinese "liberation," with six main temples. We heard a huge crowd of monks
chanting, with occasional musical interludes of drum, horn and bells. This
was impressive, there in the gloom of yak butter lamps. Their kitchen was
also impressive (cooking for 10,000 required very large pots). We could see
the butter churns used in the old days against the wall, but clearly in use
now was a huge electric blender to make yak butter for tea. In the
afternoon, we took in the famous Jokhang Temple, with lots of prostrating
pilgrims.

   At last something to see besides monasteries. We were invited to our
guides home, so we could see how an urban Tibetan lives. She, her husband
and three and a half year old daughter live in her mother's house.  To get
there, we walked down a dusty footpath past numerous plastic bags stuck on
rocks and bushes.  When we arrived, the mother was spinning a hand-held
prayer wheel in the courtyard while she babysat. We were welcomed into
their reception room and served Tibetan walnuts and watermelon. They have
five small rooms, each one separate and entered from the outside. Neat and
clean, but no inside plumbing. One room is the meditation room, because
they are serious Buddhists. Anna's father used to be a monk, but was forced
to quit when the Chinese came. He became a carpenter, then was forced to
marry or lose that job. Anna said, for that reason, she must thank the
Chinese for her existence. They have a small courtyard where a barking
guard dog is tied, recently purchased, she said, because many poor and
desperate people are making their way to Lhasa.

   The last night in Lhasa was the only time we dared eat in a Tibetan
restaurant. Every other meal was in a Chinese restaurant because they are
so much cleaner.  This Tibetan restaurant was clean enough to get a
government certificate to serve tourists. We had many many kinds of yak
that night. Yak meatballs, turnip with yak, potato with yak, stomach of
yak, yak jerky, rice pudding with yak inside, mashed potato bits with yak
inside, nettle soup with yak bits.  The vegetarians had a rough meal.

   Our three days in Lhasa were over, and before we started our five day
overland drive to Nepal, we succeeded in getting a better bus and a better
driver. Lhasa's hotels had been good and there was a good selection of food
products and tourist services. The little towns on the way to Nepal (often
referred to as "hell-holes") were not at this level and neither were the
roads. Here is where we needed everybody to be stoic and flexible, but we
had quite a few grumblers in the group who still expected little towns in
rural Tibet, filled with people who never had a bath in their lives, to
have hot water, heat, cold beer and, if possible, McDonald's hamburgers for
the fat white visitors.

     The first long drive on one-lane, dusty, curvy roads went over three
very high passes in one day. Lhasa is at 10,040 ft. elevation. On this
drive, we climbed first to a pass 15,200 ft., then drove along a very large
lake which was at 14,600 ft.  We stopped to have our box lunch there by the
lake, which turned out to be difficult because MANY Tibetan children ran
like crazy from their village (which was out of sight to us) down the road
to beg our food. Obviously, they needed it, standing there with runny
noses, filthy clothes and hair sticking straight up. Hard for the
privileged to enjoy eating under those eyes, so we forked over our lunches
again and escaped into the bus. The second pass was 16,200 ft., the highest
pass of the day. Tibetan nomads hung out there in the cold wind, attempting
to make a few yuan begging from tourists who stop for photos of glaciers
and mountains, and to entice them to take photos of their yaks and carts
for a price. Anna said they go up this high in summer, then down when
winter comes. What do they eat? All I could imagine was yak milk, who
knows? Their lives looked truly impossible and difficult. The third pass
was 14,400 ft.

   At last we arrived at Gyangtse. Wind whipped down the street, carrying
heavy clouds of dust. The town was one street, many dogs lying everywhere.
Occasionally one would get up slowly, hunched and squinting into the dust.
Small horses hitched to ancient carts (one with a live sheep in it) lined
the street. Everything and everyone dirty. Dusty pool tables sat on the
side of the road (pool and caroms are very popular in Tibet), and a few
windswept outdoor tables where people were eating food cooked on open
fires.  Strangely, the place looked quite familiar! It reminded me of the
town of Chui, a border town in Uruguay. In 1987, Norm and I were on a
public bus from Brazil which stopped there for the night amid the blowing
dust. One side of the street was Brazil, the other side was Uruguay and the
power was out on both sides.  Two fat old ladies with candles grabbed
Norm's suitcase and struggled up two flights of hotel steps with it,
leaving me to carry my own.

   We drove on the next day (no town on this route warranted a long stay) to
Shigatse. On the way, we stopped at a great little barley mill where three
stones ground barley that dribbled out of suspended baskets, powered by
water directed there in an irrigation ditch.

   We also stopped at a country Tibetan home. This was quite revealing. The
older parents had seven grown children.  Two of the sons live with them and
share one wive (not uncommon in Tibet).  Another daughter has three
husbands, who are brothers, and lives elsewhere. Several filthy
grandchildren, noses smeared, partially clothed, hung around. Adults and
children were black with dirt and grime, hair matted. The animals were on
the first floor (cow, goats, chickens), then we climbed a ladder to the
living area, to see the beds were filthy mats on the floor. Cleanliness
might be just one aspect that we are overly hung up about. Yet, it was
impossible not to shrink from the touch of people that dirty. We were glad
this family didn't offer us tea. This is why I never wanted to go trekking,
which usually involves sleeping and eating with the locals. Many westerners
do it and survive, of course.

   This family has quite a successful farm, owns a tractor, cows, barley
fields, and has water for their crops.  One would think this same water
could be available for washing. Clearly, however, the value of cleanliness
is not part of their culture, so even with the opportunity to clean
themselves not available to nomads, they don't. For that matter, we have
seen in many countries, if the value is there, even very poor people find
ways to clean themselves. I remember the sparkling clean kids emerging from
poor Mexican hovels, or the constant washing of people in India or Nepal.

   At this home and in several other places we saw minimal looms set up for
weaving yak wool. As a former weaver, I'm always interested in the type of
looms and methods of weaving. Many times we saw Tibetan men walking along
spinning wool with small spindles. It reminded me of the men on the island
in the middle of Lake Titicaca who knit hats as they walk the trails.

   In the next town, Shigatse, a familiar scenario. The Chinese run the hotel
and restaurant, are clean and well dressed. The Tibetans are instantly
recognizable by layered traditional dirty clothes, darker skin, matted
hair. The Tibetans are at the very bottom, in every way, in their own land.
We see many similarities to the situation of the American Indians one
hundred years ago.

   Here is a typical Tibetan breakfast: barley flour (raw), add sugar, yak
cheese and yak butter tea. This is not good.

   We climbed to our highest elevation the next day: 17,126 ft! All day we
continued through dry, rocky, barren mountains, where there seemed to be
almost nothing growing, yet we would still see a few herds of sheep or
goats or yaks. At the very highest elevations, where only patches of snow
and frozen ponds varied the stark landscape of bare rocks, we were certain
no people could live. Then we would pass a little group of women and kids,
sitting in a shallow depression to get at least partially out of the wind,
boiling up some tea there in the rocks.

   When we stopped for gas at a tiny village, the bus was besieged by begging
women and kids. Anna said these are people from outside the town who can't
grow enough to eat and come to the village to beg. Their children can't go
to school because they are too poor for the fees. We stopped in an isolated
place for our box lunches hoping to avoid the beggars, then sorted out all
the remaining food (peanuts, hard-boiled eggs, white buns) to give out in
the next village. This turned into a mess when Anna tried to distribute the
food, as everyone pushed and grabbed, especially the women.

   Such a harsh existence. The landscape we saw was all the same: ultra-dry
and desolate and cold and windy. At last, we reached our destination,
Xegar, a place in the nowhere. We stayed in the best hotel in town, which
was minimal, with no hot water or electricity. Beggars crowded just outside
the hotel entrance that night. We were sleeping at 14,500 ft., according to
Norm's altimeter. We all experienced difficulty breathing at high
altitudes. Climbing made us out of breath quickly. I would wake up gasping
because my nose wasn't completely clear and I couldn't get enough oxygen.
Nobody got sick, but several had insomnia, a common problem at high
altitudes.

   Continuing on, we climbed yet another pass and got a view of Mt. Everest.
Not a spectacular angle, but at least it was sticking up there in view. We
passed the turnoff to the Mt. Everest base camp at one point, for those
hikers who want to climb from the Chinese side.

   Then we began the most amazing, spectacular canyon drive ever.  It was
steep enough that possible rock slides kept us moving, with no stops for
photos. Along 1,000 ft. drops, we headed down in elevation rapidly, on a
very narrow rocky lane. At one point, we drove through a cut in a huge
snowbank with inches to spare. We had to get out and walk when the road got
really rough, reduced to just a pile of rocks where the road was supposed
to be.  Somehow, the bus lurched and pitched over that section. We drove
through creeks and under a waterfall. It was definitely the most
challenging road we have ever seen.

   In all of Yunnan and Tibet, the road repair plan seems to be to station a
man every ten kilometers at a maintenance building and to dump little piles
of dirt every fifteen feet all along the edge of the road. The maintenance
guy apparently goes out with a shovel to fill in holes. That's the whole
plan. The only bulldozer we saw was on this section of road. Anna said
before the Chinese took over, the road to Nepal was even narrower and only
suitable for foot, horse or yak. This was one of the few positive comments
she ever made about the Chinese.

   At last, we arrived at Zhangmu, the Tibetan town on the border with Nepal.
Between Zhangmu and the border is a 9 km. no-man's land.  Zhangmu is an
amazing town perched on an impossibly steep mountain in the same
precipitous canyon we had been driving through for hours. The only reason
to put a town in this dangerous place (even a tiny earthquake will take the
entire thing out) is because of the border. All traffic, including an
astounding number of large trucks, try to go through town on the one-lane
road. The road is twisty, narrow, steep, wet and piled with garbage. Right
in the center of town, almost blocking traffic, is an abandoned truck sunk
in the mud that has been there so long there is a clothes line attached to
it with laundry drying. Open stalls sell goods on each side of this street,
and amidst this chaos and filth, very fashionably dressed Chinese women in
high heels walk by primitive looking Tibetans. It is such a torturous, busy
street, it is difficult to walk down, requiring the utmost alertness and
many leaps against a building in order not to be run down. Our bus got
completely stuck head to head with a truck coming into town. We abandoned
it and were lead by Neema down steep, uneven stair-like alleys through
people's yards to our hotel.

   An amazing place.


Janis Ringuette <jar@islandnet.com>