Last Day in Shanghai

Shanghai Photo Gallery

Sherry, a friend in Shanghai (most Chinese have adopted Western names for convenience), was unable to buy me a train ticket directly to Hong Kong because a visa and passport were required. Instead, I had to settle for a 25 hour train to southern China (Shenzhen). The down side is that I will miss all the orientations for my new university, and will not make a great first impression with the staff. The up side is I have more time in Shanghai. It should be fairly obvious the latter argument wins out.

Before catching the train, I walked my favorite parts of the city one last time, and picked up photos from Kodak. It was difficult waiting for my train because I am anxious to finally settle down in Hong Kong, but at the same time I have learned that everything will work itself out. I could easily spend my life worrying over 95% of the things that will never happen.

Feels Great to be... Home?

Shanghai Photo Gallery

It was a great feeling being back in Shanghai – the city still feels like home. I was fortunate in that my hotel was within ten minutes walk of Jiaotong (the university I studied at), so I was free to wander my old stomping grounds. Before I left campus, I wondered if it would be difficult coming back because of seeing ghosts. Not so. I have many great memories that kept popping up (nearly every block of the immediate vicinity has its own story), and it felt terrific walking around reminiscing.

I had a (much needed) haircut at my favorite parlor, and was thrilled to see many of the same faces. I am fairly certain a couple of them recognized me because I saw surprised smiles. Additionally, I knew exactly where to go to find DVDs, get a new AC adaptor for my computer, and find excellent food.

Winding Down in India

Delhi Photo Gallery

Having booked a taxi the night before, I was rushed out the door by my hotel at 4:30 in the morning (I never slept for more than five hours while in India). Unfortunately, my “private taxi” turned into a minivan stuffed with four other people. We had all fallen victim to the same dirty trick, but it was 4:30 in the morning and there was nothing we could do about it. India cheats you every chance it gets. It is the one aspect of the country that disgusts me, and unfortunately, it is also the most prevalent characteristic.

After arguing with the driver because, on top of everything else, he wanted more money to take us to the international terminal (absolute nightmare!), I found solace waiting at the gate outside my airplane. I made it alive through India.

My flight touched down late at night, and I still had to pick up my bags from a friend in Shanghai. As is typical, I checked into a hotel near my old campus well after midnight. However, for the first time in over two weeks, I had a hot shower, crisp sheets, and an air-conditioner. I was in heaven, and slept like it: a full thirteen hours.

Highlights of Delhi, and the Much Anticipated Snake Charmer

Delhi Photo Gallery

Today is my last day in India, and what a relief. The Taj was certainly the highlight of my time in India, but the country was not quite done with me. Delhi is famous for the hustle and bustle of New York transplanted onto dirt streets. Instead of taxis, there are rickshaws. Instead of businessmen, there are laborers with cattle-drawn carts (everything from oxen to camels). Instead of stunning models, there are women veiled behind the colors of the rainbow. At least the honking is the same.

Some of the day’s highlights were India’s largest mosque (standing capacity of over 25,000 people), the Red Fort, a Subway sandwich restaurant, and a fun afternoon with a rickshaw driver…

I had one last wish from India: to see a snake charmer. Although I hate snakes, and cobras in particular, it is something I could not miss. I hailed a driver and he agreed to help me out – if I helped him out.

He took me to five different emporiums, leaving me at each one for fifteen minutes to look around as a potential buyer (he received commission for bringing a tourist). It was a lot of fun because I adopted a new story at each location, and was free to look at all the best things for sale, including: a 10,000 pound marble elephant with inlaid gems, silver knives with sapphires and rubies (“for my father, the heart surgeon”), tremendous jade carvings, and so on. This was the perfect way to see all the city’s sights, as it cost me absolutely nothing.

The Taj Mahal

Agra Photo Gallery

By 6am this morning I was riding in luxury to Agra on the wheels of India’s fastest train, the Shatabdi Express. It was a good thing the service was impeccable and the conditions warming because I only got a few hours sleep during the night...

Besides arriving after midnight, India’s chronic power supply problems caused me even bigger problems: the electricity to my room shut off only seconds after I entered my room (intentional?). Forced to feel my way around with the light of my camera, it was the heat that got to me. I sweated the night out lying on a hole-infested sheet. Nothing to write home about, and certainly not a good first impression for Delhi. Such is India.

Arriving in Agra, I hired a rickshaw driver for the day because many of the sights are spread out. Not wanting to waste any time, I went immediately to the Taj Mahal. I must admit, I was fairly skeptical about the “teardrop on the face of eternity.” I figured there have been too many amazing words for the Taj to ever live up to expectations.

I have never been so wrong.

After walking through the imposing gates and perfectly kept courtyards, I had my first glimpse while staring down the fountains: I was overcome with awe. My heart quickens just thinking about it. I do not want to go on and on about the Taj because I can not do it any justice, but let it suffice to say that it is worth visiting India just to see the Taj Mahal. Honestly.

I spent far longer than I expected relaxing on the marble floor in one of the exterior openings of the Taj. I hope that, upon my death, I can be layed against one of these same walls with a good book in hand and fresh wind from the river blowing softly on my soul. I guess what I am trying to say is the Taj is the kind of place you never want to leave.

Unfortunately, there was still much more to see in Agra, the former capital of the Mughal empire (Akbar the Great, etc). I visited the tremendous Red Fort, which is positioned just up the river from the Taj. The fort itself had all kinds of amazing treats inside: water flowing through the walls to keep the rooms cool, breathtaking views of the Taj, a palatial wine vineyard, inspiring thrones of onyx and marble, intricate marble and gold carvings, and of course, ramparts that immediately negated any chance of being over-run.

For the rest of the afternoon I visited the so-called “baby Taj,” other small temples, rode a camel, and visited a marble carving factory. None of this mattered because all I could think about for the day was the beauty of the Taj. As evening arrived, I sat across the river watching the setting sun work its magic – the marble visibly changes colors depending on the color of the sun’s rays. Endlessly inlaid with precious and semi-precious gems, the reflections are magical. The whole building is magical.

Sickness Update

Jaipur Photo Gallery

I took it easy today, and even found a Subway for some real food. I will be catching a bus to Delhi in a couple of hours. My illness is beginning to subside.

It Had to Happen Some Time

Jaipur Photo Gallery

Today was probably the worst day of my trip. Everything started off well, but by around noon I was crashing, and had to rest in the hotel. By early evening, I tried eating some dinner to bring my body back to life. Bad idea. While sitting in a movie theater watching a film in Hindi (India produces more movies per year than any other nation), I felt the sickness coming on strong. Rushing back to the hotel, I spent the entire night and early morning vomiting.

I don't know if it is exhaustion or food poisoning (likely both), but my body is a mess. It is a good thing I fly out in a few days because I would not be able to keep up with the long days of heavy travel.

Jodhpur

Jodhpur Photo Gallery

I arrived in Jodhpur early this morning, but was unable to get any sleep on the ride. Tiring of the filth of government buses, I opted for a sleeper on a private bus. Unfortunately, my bed was directly behind the driver, and he blared the horn the entire night. This would not have been so bad, but the horn itself was programmed to sound like music. Clever sounding the first time, the "songs" became a nightmare for the rest of the ride. I could not help feeling like Joe Pesci from the movie My Cousin Vinny.

The city of Jodhpur quickly made up for any of the hardships I suffered during the night. Towering over the city, my first impression was shaped by Mehrangarh Fort - the city's formidable stronghold overlooking the entire valley - the royal family of Jodhpur was another powerful Rajasthani clan.

The first sight I visited, after checking into a hotel and showering, was the royal cenotaph Jaswant Thada. As is typical of Rajasthani architecture, the marble lattice work was terrific, and it felt like a small scale introduction to the Taj Mahal.

I next began the arduous climb to the top of Mehrangarh Fort. Standing atop its ramparts with the surrounding city closing in on all sides, and the sounds of the streets being carried upward by the wind, I felt what it is like to look out over a kingdom. If the weather was better (light drizzle all day), the pictures would have been amazing as the city blocks are divided among the various classes, and each class uses a traditional color for painting homes and shops. It gave the city an art-deco look as blocks of indigo blue gave way to gentler hues of yellow.

The last major site was the palace of the royal family. Part living quarters, part hotel, and part museum, it was an impressive sight on the skyline - India really has a taste for the fantastic. I became somewhat jaded as I wandered its halls, though. There were endless accounts of the achievements and awards of the Maharajas, when in reality they were nothing more than playboys living off inherited wealth. I suppose it is what is to be expected.

There was some last minute drama to my day as I was eating dinner for the evening. A waiter happened to look over my train ticket to Jaisalmer, and he told me the train had been cancelled because of the heavy monsoons to the west. Frantic, I ran to the train station to refund my ticket, and then had to decide what I was going to do for the night. I decided to cut Jaisalmer out of my itinerary (it would not have been comfortable with the rains even if I could go there), and hopped on a last minute government bus to Jaipur. You can imagine my excitement at more bus travel.

Udaipur

Udaipur Photo Gallery

This begins my journey through the Rajasthan region of India, literally "Land of Kings"...

My bus arrived in Udaipur early in the morning, which gave me a full day to explore the city used for filming the James Bond epic, Octopussy. I left my bags with a local hotel for the day, and began by visiting the Maharaja of Udaipur's collection of antique automobiles. He had everything from 1938 Mercedes-Benzs to Buicks to the famous black Rolls-Royce from Octopussy. I would have given anything to take the car out for a drive, maybe even test the side mounted rockets, but the guide would have none of it.

Afterward, I made my way to the imposing Udaipur City Palace, Rajasthan's largest. I cannot begin to describe the architecture (hopefully the pictures give an idea), except that it could come straight out of a fairy tale. Positioned high on a peninsula jutting out in a lake, it was fascinating wandering the hallways and taking in the views from the terraces. The surrounding city is painted in an eclectic mix of colors making the breezy palace feel like an idealic escape from the bustle of the world.

I spent more time than I expected wandering the halls of the museum (much of the palace has been set aside), intrigued by the bloody and deceitful history the kings endured in India. One story that stands out is of a Maharaja's brother who slaid the king, and was then going to do the same to the king's son. Before he arrived at the child's room, a maid swapped her own child so that the royal heir could be saved - leaving her own son to be chopped to pieces before her eyes. This was only one of many stories of the court intrigue notorious in a land where children carry daggers and kings lead armies deep into the desert.

The clear highlight of my day came as I was exploring a set-aside crystal gallery in one of the palace's far wings. Everything you would ever want in crystal could be found here - combs, glassware, tables, chairs, and even a bed. The gallery itself was viewed from a walkway around Udaipur's durbar hall (official meeting room for the Maharaja), and I was in no hurry to finish. I then caught sight of a meeting being conducted at the end of the hall, and began making my way over until a guard stopped me. After talking to him (again, the Indians love good conversation) and basically showing a genuine interest in the city's history, the guard informed me it was the Maharaja himself holding the meeting with his daughter and advisors.

For the next hour, I stood partially hidden behind a rampart, listening to the debates over the financial and tactical future of the royal family. There was disagreement over how to handle the growing tourism business spawned by the Maharaja - he owns over 20 hotels in the city, as well as the palace, museums, and endless other money-generating ventures. What so interested me was watching an actual king conduct himself with his advisors. He was both mutually authoritative and seeking in guidance, saving his smiles only for his daughter (who seemed like a ruthless businesswoman).

I went on a boat ride of the lake later in the day, and was able to see the famous island used in the James Bond movie. The island is actually an enormous estate, now hotel, with water slapping against it from all sides.

In the evening I watched a traditional Rajasthani performance, complete with exotic woman dancing under the moonlight. One of the more experienced woman had nine pots balanced on her head while she twirled and amazed the crowd with her agility. There is definitely an other-world feel about the city, and I certainly felt like I was caught in a "land of kings".

At 10pm I boarded another bus, this time for Jodhpur, a city in Western Rajasthan. You can imagine my excitement at more night travel.

Mumbai (Bombay)

Mumbai Photo Gallery

Before my 12:00 bus, I enjoyed a final sunrise over the Mumbai skyline. Afterward, I had an early lunch at what is reputed as the city's best restaurant. I have not written much about the food in India, but it is unbelievable. I have not had anything I am not crazy about, which keeps me trying something new everywhere I go.

Otherwise, there was not a whole lot going on today as I had a lot of catching up to do with sending letters, emails, figuring out my remaining itinerary (ha!), and taking care of academic issues... I need a Blackberry.

Mumbai (Bombay)

Mumbai Photo Gallery

Feeling refreshed after sleeping in a real bed, even if the Salvation Army provided it, left me ready for an early morning outing to the Mumbai docks. The scene was a riot as the boats jostled for position in the water while the vendors did the same on land. Most docks I have seen maintain some kind of order and cohesion, but in India everything is a free-for-all. It looked like whole families were operating as a unit as fathers bargained with fisherman, children caught baskets of fish thrown from the boats, and mothers watched over the purchases.

I later went on a walking tour of the city to take in all the sights, and get a feel for the architecture. As the metropolitan capital of India, there is an interesting fusion of old-style British buildings mixing with new-school Indian growth. More importantly, there is as sense of sanity on the streets. I met an endless variety of people, all of whom were happy to show me in for tea. I began realizing I may have judged India a little too harshly, as the people have an uncompromisingly generous side when you show them respect.

One of the highlights of my day was wandering into a session of the High Court. I was admiring what I thought to be Mumbai University, and in the process found myself in an open courtyard surrounded by offices. Plaques with names like "Honorable so-and-so" quickly gave it away, but a judge said it would be no problem if I watched a session. The scene was straight out of Charles Dickens - slowly revolving fans, open paneled doors, judges adorned in elaborate black robes, and even uncomfortable wooden benches that cut short my stay. Although English was used, there were no microphones and I had a difficult time understood what was being said (it did not look very interesting from the face of the judge).

Later in the evening I walked the Indian equivalent of South Beach with a couple of French girls. It is a shame, but I am forced to spend all my time with Europeans because Americans do not travel as much. I suppose Europeans grow up bouncing from country to country because they are so close, and over time they graduate to more exotic places. One of the things I have a hard time getting used to is all the men who hold hands in Asia. The beach was lined with what appeared to be couples, but in reality were only good friends having fun together. There are no stigmas against homogenous body contact, and I have even seen Koreans washing each other in the shower.

Traveling Across the Face of India by Train

Mumbai Photo Gallery

My train from Varanasi to Mumbai covered a distance of 1500 kilometers, but it took 31 hours to do so. Much of my day was spent staring out the train car at passing landscape, and speaking with the other passengers. Fortunately, many Indians speak English, even if they do sound more like a robot than a human.

I will not drone on about the conversations, but I was able to inquire about a looming question I have had: why China is getting all the attention instead of India? Both China and India have massive populations (1.3 and 1.1 billion, respectively) that can be exploited because of the low standard of living. Conversely, a greater percentage of India speaks English, the nation has a democratic form of government, and it boasts some of the best technical schools (IITs) in the world.

It has since been re-iterated to me by many people that the major constraints holding India back are horrific corruption (in all walks of life), and a self-centered mentality. It makes me miss the United States, where neighbors care for one another, corruption is sniffed out and detested with unprecedented fervor, and people do not need motives to say hello to one another. Perhaps these traits better define America than the policies of George W. Bush, and it would be nice if world opinion would reflect such.

Varanasi

Varanasi Photo Gallery

I did not get much sleep last night because flies were everywhere in my room. Thus, I did not mind waking up at 5am for an early morning boat ride on the Ganges River. Varanasi is the most sacred Hindu city, and people travel here from all over the world to bath in the river on ghats (concrete steps leading into the river). It is quite a show in the morning as the women wash their brightly colored saris while naked men dunk themselves in the water.

To give an idea of the scale on which this bathing occurs, roughly 60,000 people go to the river each morning on only a 7km stretch. This says nothing about the health risks of the river. The septic water is completely devoid of oxygen, and the water has 1.5 million faecal coliform bacteria per 100mL of water (safe bathing water should be under 500)... I was obviously careful stepping into the boat because I felt like I could see disease in my reflection.

Another highlight of the boat ride was seeing funeral ghats being used to burn the dead. The bodies are first doused in the Ganges River (cleansing act), and then carried under a cloaked stretcher to the funeral pyres. Before anything begins, the wood is weighed (different types of wood cost different amounts) and a price is fixed. I suppose it is important not to pay too much for the wood, but it would be awful if not enough wood was purchased...

After the boat ride, I walked more of the old city. Varanasi was a worthwhile place to visit because it was not hard to feel the sacred nature of the streets and people. While there is a definite eerie feel at night because of the crime, there is an equally eerie feel during the morning because of all the devout Hindu worshipping in the streets.

I caught my train for Mumbai at around noon, and locked my luggage on my bunk with me. I spoke with two girls who had their bags stolen in the middle of the night, and they were in a real bind because of it. It seems like every country I visit has had an entrance fee that has nothing to do with money. In India, it is readily apparent that one must sacrifice all guarantees of well-being.

Crossing into India, Varanasi

Varanasi Photo Gallery

As the rickety (yet colorful) converted public school bus bounced along to its final stop in southern Nepal I groggily regained consciousness thinking I had reached the Nepal-India border. Waking at 6am is difficult under the best of circumstances, much less after a patience-exhausting 12 hour ride with no leg or wiggle room. Thus, you can imagine my delight when a local explained to me (in the kind of broken English that makes me wonder if it will ever be working) that the border crossing was still another 15 kilometers further along the road. "Just great," I thought.

Since there weren't too many other options, I was soon back on the main road, thumb up, waiting for the next vehicle heading south. I eventually hailed down another school bus gone public bus, pointed South and subsequently handed over 20 rupees to the driver. But as I tried to climb aboard the bus, the driver grumbled something in Nepali - presumably, "Not so fast!" I looked at him wondering what I had done wrong now, but he nonchalantly pointed at the top of the rickety bus and I took the hint.

Without a moment's hesitation, I shimmied up the side railings and braced myself and my pack as best I could manage. The Nepali roads are awful (I experienced an entire night of bouncing to attest to this), especially considering we were well outside the child-sized ring of urbanized Nepal. However, with the sun beginning to peak over the horizon to my left, even the bumps that sent my body flailing and my heart flying couldn't stop me from feeling on top of the world. There is no better way to ride into India.

When I reached the border I stopped to eat some breakfast before clearing Nepali immigrations. There was little to choose from apart from a spattering of road-side stalls, so grabbed a stool and order curried vegetables, white rice, and kopi (a kind of coffee). Eating with my hands posed a bit of a problem since I was all out of wet-wipes by this point, but I did my best to clean my hands with some running water and the inside of my t-shirt. It is strange to remember how I once spurned food if someone had so much as burped in its general proximity, whereas now my stomach is a veritable garbage disposal that can handle anything.

This ends my trip to Nepal, and now on to India...

I have heard many things about India - many of the stories are quite good but a seemingly equal number are quite bad. Nevertheless, every description involves a superlative of some kind. In India, it seems there is no such thing as a middle ground - only extremes. I was looking forward to the country as exactly my kind of place, despite warnings from other travelers who said, I'll Never Do It Again.

I spent an entire day waiting in line at the Indian embassy in Katmandu, but it paid off because clearing India's customs was a painless procedure with my documents in hand. The officers on duty even spoke fluent English and took the time to share a few laughs with me. However, once I stepped out of the customs office and into the "real" India I realized I had entered a place I never would imagine could exist on the same planet. As my earlier postings describe, I have grown accustomed to filth and pestering people, but as I mentioned before with extremes, India takes everything to a whole new level. The street was lined with standing cows, feces (animal and even human, I suspect), pile upon pile of rotten food and garbage, a man urinating on the sidewalk, and enough festering water to guarantee generation upon generation of flies. Not much of a first impression, I suppose, but I have never been one to judge a book by its cover. The next things that hit me (and have not let go yet) are the flies, and people trying to sell me something. India is dirt poor, and life for much of the population stems from tourist dollars.

I eventually made my way onto a government bus (not trusting any of the others), and ended up in a place called Gorakhpur. The city is not worth noting, but it is a travel hub for much of the region. I picked up a train guide, and reserved a ticket to Mumbai (Bombay), India for the following day. With my ticket in hand, I searched the city for another public bus that would take me to th sacred Hindu city of Varanasi for the evening. The entire time I searched, I had people swarming me screaming "Hello!", "Rickshaw!", "Taxi!", "Money-Change!", "Bus to Nepal!", "Bus to Delhi!", "Bus to Varanasi!" - ahh, that's me!

I arrived in Varanasi at 11pm. Having been traveling for nearly 30 hours without a break, I was completely worn out. This did not help me any because it is paramount to stay on your toes when arriving in a new city, especially at night. Thus, the first thing I did was buy a knife from a nearby shop. I then took a taxi to the center of the city in search of a place to stay. The driver claimed he could take me to my hotel, which was great because the old city is nothing but winding alley-ways (much like Venice).

My worst fears came to light in the back alleys when a group of thugs emerged from the dark, blocking my path. My rickshaw driver continued walking away. Either he was in on it, or he figured it was not worth his time to get tangled up in the mess. Either way, I was left to fend for myself. I had been getting a bad feeling the entire time because the alleys felt dangerous, and so I was lucky enough to have my knife ready at hand. After laying into them with my harshest profanity (I was simply not in the mood to deal with this after all I had endured), and slashing the air with the knife, they ran off. My guide book warned about Varanasi being an unsafe city, and even warned that exactly this type of thing can happen, but who ever thinks it will happen to them?

I had a hard time finding a room for the night as most hotels close their doors at 10pm because of the crime. The place I ended up in was as bad as it gets, but I was thankful to finally lock out the rest of the world. Even if it was only for a few hours.

Katmandu

Katmandu Photo Gallery

At 7am, I took a spot in line outside the gates of the Indian Embassy in my bid for an Indian transit visa. I found a loop-hole by searching the web whereby I can enter India for a period of 15 days if it is for the purpose of traveling onward (must have proof of such). This loophole must have divine origins because I have exactly 15 days until my flight! Further, I was able to find great airfare from Delhi to Shanghai for only $210 in Katmandu – the one good service rendered by the tout!

Much like trying to get into the Potala Temple, I did not reach the front of the queue until noon – Indian bureaucracy is notorious. I was the last person able to hand my passport over in time, which meant that I was once again the luckiest guy on earth!

I spent the next several hours buying more presents for friends and family, and arranging a bus that would take me to the border. Later, I picked up my passport (but not without difficulty because all the Indian computers crashed), and I hopped on the bus as it was literally pulling out of the station.

It felt like a hectic end to my Nepal trip, but as I was to find out in the coming days, it was a mild introduction to the unreal world of India.

Bhaktapur

Bhaktapur Photo Gallery

For my final day of exploring, I took a bus to a small town called Bhaktapur. Cars are outlawed from entering the town’s limits, and despite its remarkable architecture, the streets were free of any westerners. The Kathmandu valley was formerly ruled by three royal brothers who competed for power, each from their respective city (Kathmandu, Bhaktapur, and Patan). Consequently, each city has a distinct set of temples and palaces in an attempt to “outdo” each other in terms of cultural distinction.

I hired a local teenager as a guide for several hours, and he did a terrific job explaining the many sights. The narrative became particularly interesting as he enlightened me to the various statues/carvings of Karmasutra that adorned many of the temples. Apparently, Karmasutra was (and still is) used to educate Hindus on sex, and the various ways it can be performed. It was terrific guidance, to say the least!

I was also shown around a local art school where locals were painting exquisite works of Hindu/Buddhist art. The work was explained in detail (presumably so that I would buy something). I took a strong liking to the embedded idea of reaching Nirvana by giving up all wants and desires (as they are a cause for pain and suffering). It did not escape me that striving for Nirvana is a desire in itself, but I was careful enough to keep my ideas to myself.

Monkey Temple

Monkey Temple Photo Gallery

I ventured deeper into the more “traditional” parts of the Katmandu valley today, and gained confidence in dealing with the Hindu people. It may sound silly, but without feeling like I belong and blend, it is difficult to work through the less touristy areas because I feel like an intruder… Other than brightly colored saris, what stands out the most on the streets are endless filth and randomly situated bovine beasts. It felt like I could not turn a corner without side-stepping feces or maneuvering around a cow. Turns out, I was not the only one with this difficulty as I came across a cow lying down in the middle of a street, holding up all traffic. As a foreigner, it was a funny sight because there was a crowd of people standing around scratching their heads wondering what to do. Cows are sacred to Hindus, and no one wanted to be the one to disturb it!

I spent several hours exploring Nepal’s famous Monkey Temple, so named for the many families of monkeys that roam the grounds. When I first approached the temple, I was chased by a monkey eager to snatch a Snickers from my hand. I must admit I was scared, and began running behind benches to get away. The monkey was diligent in his athletic pursuit, and it was not until a Nepali ran the monkey off that I regained my composure. As a token of fairness, I laid another Snickers on the bench next to me and waited for a picture of the thief in action… Throughout my entire time at the temple, I could think of nothing but the book Outbreak.

Katmandu

Katmandu Photo Gallery

My rhythms and pace are completely off pace with the native Hindu population. Before arriving in Nepal, all I knew about Hinduism was that it is a polytheistic religion, and the most important god is Shiva (God of Destruction) - certainly an embarrassing and insufficient background given that 90% of Nepal are devout Hindus.

I had my first “breakthrough” when I came across a large concrete pit in one of the city’s older districts. There were broken clay pots and spilled dies caking the ground in a messy array of confusion. Adding to my bafflement, woman and children were bathing in small fountains, and sitting in groups on the dirtied ground. I stood watching unable to figure out what on earth could be going on until I found a group of locals who explained everything to me…

Today is the first Monday of “the month of Nepal” (lunar calendar), and as such is a day of worship for the God, Shiva. The pit I referred to is used by Hindus to consult with a sakhu (Hindu holy man) and receive a tika, or blessing from the gods. The most common tika is the widely recognized red smear on the center of the forehead that can range from a small dot to a mixture of yogurt, rice and sindur (red powder). Much like the all-seeing third eye of the Buddha, the tika is a sign of divine presence and is meant as protection for those who wear it.

I also heard several first-hand accounts on the ubiquitous fighting the western world associates with Nepal… Historically a monarchy, Nepal has undergone slow democratic reforms as a result of popular uprisings. Predictably, the relinquishment of royal power is a slow and strenuous process that has not been helped by a popular likeness for stately royalty (similar to Britain).

The rise of the Maoist rebels was spurred on by government corruption, but was formerly restricted to small villages in the countryside. It was only recently that they have risen in enough power to directly challenge the military in large cities like Katmandu. Most of their attacks are targeted at the military (monarchy), but anyone who disobeys their orders faces harsh punishment…

I met an English student doing volunteer work in southern Nepal who was riding on a public bus during a Maoist strike period several months ago (when fighting was at its worst). Rebels stopped the bus, and because the driver was operating against Maoist orders, he was shot in front of all the passengers. It was a gruesome story that I have had a difficult time getting over.

As a follow up to my dealings with the tout, I ended up canceling all contracts with him. I suffered from $15 in sunken charges, but I had a very bad feeling about the way things were going. He was talking about leaving my passport with him so he could take care of the visa, and that he would catch up to me in several days with a bus to deliver it. There was no way on earth I would leave my passport with anyone (I carry it in a pouch inside my pants at all times), and this was the perfect reason to excuse myself of his services.

Katmandu

Katmandu Photo Gallery

My first day in Katmandu did not go very well. The city is overflowing with vendors who sell everything from cocaine and hashish to fine silks and tiger balms. It has been difficult adjusting to the endless touts, pick-pockets, and pushy-vendors after spending so much time in the friendly pace of the Tibetan plateau. Making matters worse, I made the mistake of getting myself tangled up with a local tout...

In the past I have made sure to stay away from all touts (men who "get you things", often on the sly), but I was in a bind when I found out it takes 7-10 days to get an Indian visa. The recent terrorist bombings in Mumbai, as well as the United States’ warnings of further attacks in India, only further complicated matters for me. To make a long story short, I spent the better part of the day organizing my visa, a trip to a Nepali national park, and transportation into India with the help of the touts many “contacts”…

It was stressful trying to work everything out, but it was also interesting because I was able to follow the tout around as he negotiated with a variety of people. I felt like a bit of a celebrity because everywhere we went in the city he was recognized and greeted. Looking back on it, I may have been an unsuspecting sheep being led on by one of the cities most notorious prowlers – and everyone was in on the joke, but me!

Leaving Tibet, Maoist Rebels, Timbuktu Katmandu

Land Cruiser Photo Gallery

By 8am we were on the road making the perilous journey to the Chinese/Nepal border. Crossing through the Himalayans from the Tibetan plateau was a tremendous experience because the landscape becomes sub-tropical on the Nepali side, and the road is built ominously into the side of mountains the entire way. There were waterfalls all around us, and many parts of the road still had the markings of recently cleared landslides. I heard horror stories about the numerous tourists who die each year because their vehicles topple into the ravine, but I felt some relief knowing most of the deaths are from bus accidents. This also seemed to be a cause for comfort for our driver because he had no qualms with accelerating around turns or passing trucks on the narrow roads…

Passing through Chinese customs was a fairly painless process, as was crossing the bridge from Tibet to Nepal. It was memorable standing over the line between the two countries and saying goodbye to Tibet, and the imposing power of the Chinese government.

After getting a Nepali visa (I only have one spare page left in my passport), I found a ride to Katmandu. The six hour journey was as rewarding as before because it was complete with the most stunning scenery I have seen thus far, and the Nepali people are unlike anything I have ever seen – the best way I can describe them is as a somewhat mountainous Indian people. All along the road were girls washing their hair, old woman cleaning clothing, boys playing with each other in the streets, and men building and laboring on the mountain's layered fields.

I suppose the highlight of the ride to Katmandu came at the halfway point when our vehicle was stopped by a group of Maoist rebels. They had a very non-threatening demeanor, but from their violent history and the reaction of the driver I knew they meant business. They came around with an a receipt book and explained that they required a donation to the Maoist cause before our jeep could continue on its way. I thought it was ridiculous that they actually used a receipt book and used a term like “donation”, but we eventually paid the money so that we could continue without ending up on the front page of CNN. Ever since the king seized power from the Parliament and fighting broke out several months ago, more and more foreigners have been taken hostage or shot by the rebels – an idea I was not particularly keen of. It was quite an experience, and another example of how fate has smiled kindly.

When we finally reached Katmandu (after passing no less than ten military checkpoints) it was every bit the amazing city I had imagined. Perhaps it is just me, but the name Katmandu somehow brings to mind a kind of fantasy land like Timbuktu. That I am actually typing away in the heart of the city is a reality that will take me some time to get used to.

Everest Base Camp

Mount Everest Photo Gallery

It was a cold night at Base Camp, despite being curled up in all my clothes with blankets piled high on top of me. Nevertheless, I was awake early in the morning, and was blessed with a perfect view of Mount Everest. There was not a cloud in the sky, which was a well-appreciated rarity among all the others who were braving the cold for the tremendous view. Pictures do not do the mountain any kind of justice because it is the blistering cold and altitude that make it such a wrenching climb. I never would have thought I would be so lucky to wake up looking up at Mt. Everest, and I felt a greater sense of reward than I have in quite some time.

I am afraid the pictures do not make Everest look as awe-inspiring as pop-culture has made it out to be, so I will substantiate its claim to fame with a few notable facts…
1) There have only been around 900 people to reach Everest's peak
2) Over 160 climbers have died trying to reach the peak
3) For every 6 people who reach the peak, roughly one person has died
4) The peak is 8850 meters above sea level, or 5.5 miles high

After soaking up all the views I could handle, I hopped on a horse-drawn cart for the 8 kilometer trek back to Rhongpu Monastery (where the Land Cruiser was waiting). Predictably, we were only on the road for an hour before the jeep died for good. After spending a couple of hours waiting, another Land Cruiser happened by. As luck would have it, they were also heading to the Nepali border. More importantly, there was a pull-out seat in the trunk of the jeep, which meant I was back on the road with three Koreans and an American!!

We drove for most of the day trying to cover the remaining 350 kilometers to the border, but were forced to stop 30 kilometers short. The drive was amazing as it was through unmolested Tibet, and I could not get over how fortunate I was to actually be heading for Nepal after our jeep died. Although I was bouncing around like a pinball in the back of the jeep (there wasn’t a single stretch of paved road), I can think of worse things than driving parallel to the Himalayan mountain range for an entire afternoon.

 

 

Arrival: Everest Base Camp

Mount Everest Photo Gallery

Today was a memorable day. Without going into too much detail, there were many more car problems. It took us 12 hours to travel 180 kilometers (roughly 110 miles) because the jeep broke down so many times on the way to Mount Everest. At one point, the driver was inside the hood of the car sucking oil out of a tube in an attempt to unclog it! I can still picture him spitting out globs of oil, and going back for more…

Everything was worth it when we reached Rhongpu Monastery, 8 kilometers from Base Camp. I gathered my belongings and hiked uphill and upwind to the launching pad of one of mankind’s greatest challenges. With a raging river to my right and the Himalayan mountains on both sides, neither the setting sun nor the bitter cold could dampen my spirits. The five mile walk was great because there was a certain mystique about being the last one to come into Base Camp for the night (elevation 5200m).

I checked into one of the Tibetan tents with the two Germans, and was given an interesting proposition by the Tibetan owner.

This story requires a little background (all explained to me by the owner)… The Tibetans own and operate the tents that people sleep in at Base Camp, but since the Chinese “own” Base Camp, they receive all the profits. The Chinese authorities come around every night and count heads, collecting 40RMB/person. The only way the Tibetans make money is if someone buys breakfast or dinner. It would be possible to hide a visitor, but it is very risky because (sadly) many Tibetans are Chinese informants.

How I come into play… I had been unsuccessful in negotiating a lower price for a tent, but I used Mandarin the entire time and made quite a stir because I propositioned each owner. Since much of the town knew I spoke Chinese and was operating on behalf of the Germans, my tent owner conceived the idea that I could be a tour guide. He put his hands on a fake document that verified one Christopher Lonsom as a Chinese tour guide. Thus, when the Chinese authorities entered our tent I spoke to them (in Mandarin), and explained I was the guide for the two Germans. They nearly stumped me when they asked me questions about why an American tour guide was helping Germans, but by feigning ignorance and using the most complicated Chinese phrases I could remember I was lucky enough to pull it off!

Needless to say, as the Chinese authorities were leaving the tent (with 40RMB less than they would have had), I realized my heart was pulsating uncontrollably. Despite that, it has made for a great story, and it felt great to pull one over on the Chinese authorities with the Tibetans – especially with my large PLA coat on the entire time.

Gyantse, Shigatse, and Lhatse

Gyantse Photo Gallery

Shigatse Photo Gallery

I woke up early this morning and walked a kora around Gyantse monastery. As always, the weather was perfect allowing me to enjoy more great views of the rising sun. I was even able to sneak within the monastery walls before opening hours, avoiding the high entrance fees for which Tibet has become notorious. This nearly worked to my disadvantage when one of the many dogs that guard the monastery (Buddhists believe dogs are reincarnations of lamas, or important religious figures) attacked me.

I had been warned about the danger of dogs in Tibet, but I have been around dogs all my life, and I never thought an attack would be that bad (or that it would happen to me). As I nearly found out the hard way, a dog attack can be awfully vicious. Fortunately, I was able to land a good kick to the jaw with my shoe before throwing the dog down and running off. With my heart pounding, I couldn’t help wondering if any monks were rolling in laughter – when the dog first came after me, I screamed and stumbled backward in shock... I can still picture the bloodshot eyes of the dog that attacked me.

For the next hour I made sure to stay well clear of the dogs in the complex, although there were packs of them roaming all over the place. It turned out to be worth the risk because I witnessed the morning Buddhist rituals, and was even able to sneak video of the proceedings. I have discovered a clever technique of putting my camera on video mode while holding it at my side with my tour book.

Later in the morning we drove to Shigatse, Tibet’s second largest city. Shigatse’s foremost attraction is Tashilhunpo Monastery, seat of the Panchen Lama (the second most important figure in Tibetan Buddhism). With the Dalai Lama outlawed as the number one enemy of the state, the Panchen Lama is arguably the most influential figure in Tibetan politics because he is backed by the Chinese Communist Party.

The story is the following… The Dalai Lama’s selection for the reincarnation of the Panchen Lama was rejected by the Chinese Communist Party in 1995 in favor of another child. The boy has since been under house arrest at an undisclosed location – making him the world’s youngest political prisoner. This becomes important because the Panchen Lama is not only Tibet’s second most important figure, but he is also charged with finding the re-incarnation of the Dalai Lama upon his death. Given that the exiled Dalai Lama is in his 70s, the Chinese are hoping to use the imprisoned Panchen Lama to select the next leader of Tibet!

Tashilhunpo Monastery is quite impressive as it was one of the only monasteries to escape destruction by the Red Guards (the Panchen Lama at the time was also under Chinese control). A couple of the more memorable aspects were a 26m tall gilded statue of the future Buddha (over 300kg gold plating, fingers over a meter in length, taking over 900 artisans and four years to complete), and another Buddhist ceremony. There were over 200 monks gathered into the main hall chanting mantras (a head monk says something and the rest of the monks repeat it in unison) with the trademark yellow hats and thick smell of juniper incense.

From Shigatse, we went off-roading for several hours in order to avoid the Chinese patrols. Many parts of Tibet are off limits to foreigners, but between bribery and off-roading, there are ways around the restrictions. Unfortunately, there are not too many ways around breakdowns… We were stuck in the middle of the desert for a couple of hours until another jeep happened by us (oddly enough, it was the same one as before). They were able to get us going again, and we reached Lhatse to rest for the night.

 

 

Gyantse

Gyantse Photo Gallery

We were provided with a different Land Cruiser and driver for the remaining portion of the trip, but it was obvious form the start that very little had improved. The condition of the vehicle was worse than before, and the only consolation came from the driver’s older and more experienced appearance. There was very little that could be done, so I accepted my draw and hopped in the car for an early start.

It was not long until the Land Cruiser’s condition became a problem. We broke down along the Friendship Highway in the arly afternoon, but were fortunate enough to have another Land Cruiser stop to help repair the jeep. Between banging on machinery with a wrench, towing the jeep down the road in an attempt to start it, and plenty of scratching heads and smoking cigarettes, the drivers eventually got the jeep running again - losing several hours in the process. The upside of the wait came when the agency and driver agreed to add an extra day to the trip, which was fine by me.

We arrived at a town called Gyantse in the early evening, but even that was not without incident. When we first reached the town we were confronted with the harsh reality of a collapsed bridge. It was an impressive sight (I would return the following day to take pictures and figure out what went wrong), but it meant that we had to drive along the river for quite some time searching for a place to cross.

The town itself is known for having a tremendous fort perched high above the valley, and a monastery with the largest stupa in the world. A stupa is one of the more recognizable sights of Buddhism, and it is basically a monument that stores a body part of an important figure.

After settling into a hotel for the evening, I climbed to the top of the fort in the setting sun. Given the hour of day, I was free to explore without coming across anyone. This left for some daunting moments as I crawled down wooden ladders into the dungeons. The fading sunlight and the glow of my camera were all that assured no one was lurking in the shadows. I am sure there was very little risk of anything bad happening, but I could not help feeling like Indiana Jones exploring haunted tombs.

Ganden Monastery

Ganden Photo Gallery

Our Land Cruiser driver only knew one phrase in English, “Let’s Go!”, but he made the most of it. At 7am this morning, he was banging on my bed repeating “Let’s go. Let’s go.” At one point, he was even flicking his lighter to hurry us along. I suppose it is funny looking back on it, but it’s fair to say I was pissed at the time.

Fifteen unhappy minutes later, and we were on the road to Ganden Monastery. The roads were paved most of the way so there were no more mechanical failures. Ganden turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip so far because of its location. It is nestled in an armpit of the mountains at an elevation of 4500m. Although Ganden also suffered extensive damage at the hands of the Red Guards, it has had a lot more rebuilding.

I immediately set off to climb to the mountain ridgeline in order to take in the entire view of the valley. I found a kora along the way, but was relieved yaks were my only company for the two hour hike. At the peak, there were endless prayer flags tied up with a large pit for burning juniper incense and praying. The real treat came in the form of a 360 degree aerial view down both sides of the mountain. The red and white monastic buildings were perfectly located in the forest of green, while the river flowed below and the clouds flowed above – I wish the pictures could do it justice.

After making my way down from the mountain, I began another smaller kora around the monastery. A Tibetan boy joined me, and pointed out many of the sights – including a sky burial site. When a person dies, their body is chopped into pieces and placed in a location where birds can feast on the flesh – similar to the native Indians, nothing goes to waste.

We arrived back in Lhasa later in the evening, and I was able to negotiate a new driver and a new car for the four day Nepal trip (via Everest Base Camp). I leave tomorrow morning, but will post once I reach Kathmandu, Nepal.

 

 

Tibetan Countryside, Reting Monastery, Tidrum Nunnery

Nam-Tso Photo Gallery

Countryside Photo Gallery

I woke up with a minor head-ache this morning, but otherwise the altitude sickness is behind me. It was a good thing too because the rest of the day was spent driving over dirt roads and fording rivers. We left the lake early in the morning for Reting Monastery, which is where the Dalai Lama wants to reside should he have the chance to return. It took several hours to reach the monastery since there were no paved roads, but it gave the vistas a timeless quality - the only people we saw were nomads. Every person we passed stopped what they were doing to waive and yell, “tashi dele!” (pronounced tashee-deli, meaning “good luck” in Tibetan). It is a fun word to say once you develop the confidence to use it!

The monastery itself was largely destroyed by the Red Guards, but there was still a mural of the 14th (present) Dalai Lama – presumably the only one left in Tibet. I am fairly certain being caught with a picture of the Dalai Lama is one of the most dangerous “crimes” one can commit. Outside of the mural, most of the monastery was fairly uninspiring because the condition of the monastery was so poor. However, I was able to eat lunch with the monks. It involved eating instant noodles and drinking yak butter tea - I cannot begin to describe the many vomit-inducing qualities of yak tea. Fortunately, I was able to pour it into my soup when the monks were not looking…

After Reting, we continued along the dirt roads for another four hours as we moved toward Tidrum Nunnery. The ride grew more and more interesting because our driver did not seem to know where he was going, and each person we passed told us to go in a different direction! This would not have worried me (the views were stunning) if our Land Cruiser was not breaking down! At one point, our driver was underneath the jeep banging a hammer on the machinery. I may only be a second year mechanical engineering student (and a poor one at that), but even I knew the hammer was not going to get us anywhere!

Our jeep finally broke down about an hour outside of the nunnery. Fortunately, it was in a small town so the driver had others assisting him. Rather than sitting around, I decided to wander the town dressed in my large PLA coat – again, what a sight! It turned out to be good karma because a convoy of Chinese dump trucks slammed on their brakes, and came over to talk to me. It did not seem weird at the time, but they offered me a ride up the mountain. There was no way I could refuse!

I hollered goodbye to the others I was traveling with as I climbed aboard the massive truck. I was able to hold down a twenty minute conversation with the driver using up every phrase I could remember. I now know how many brothers and sisters he has, whether or not he likes to sing, and even the most beer he drank in one night (18 bottles, supposedly)… The ride was wild because the driver plowed ahead at 50km/hr despite the winding, narrow roads on the ledge of the mountain. Making things more interesting were the yaks and sheep we pushed through along the way – the road is the only way up, and everyone uses it.

After 35 minutes of driving, the driver wanted to turn around, and it was time for me to get out. I was slightly worried because I was in the middle of nowhere, and separated from everyone. Fortunately, after fifteen minutes of waiting on the side of the road with my thumb up, I hitched a ride with a Tibetan family in the world’s worst minivan. These were my first two real hitch-hiking experiences, and they definitely lived up to the hype!

Nam-Tso

Nam-Tso Photo Gallery

By 8am I was packed into the 1984 Land Cruiser, and heading for the highest salt water lake in the world. Nam-Tso is at an elevation of 4800m, and with passes of over 5100m, I found myself in serious pain for much of the ride. I spent the first five hours at the lake curled up in a bed, praying I would not be the one tourist who dies per year in Tibet from acute mountain sickness (AMS). I had ignored the warnings about waiting before traveling to the lake because I felt so good in Lhasa (elevation 3600m), but a rapid ascent of 1500m was very foolish. To put the altitude in perspective, after only four days in Lhasa I found myself at nearly the same altitude as Everest Base Camp...

Lhasa

Lhasa Photo Gallery

Potala Palace Photo Gallery

After a breakfast overlooking the Tibetan sunrise from the hotel rooftop, I made my way to the heart of Tibetan Buddhism – the Jokhang Temple. From the moment I walked through the large doorway into the courtyard the significance of the monastery became apparent. All around me were pilgrims performing the ritual bows and chanting hymns that are characteristic to Tibetan Buddhism. The smell of yak butter and incense wafting through the smoke filled air gave the scene a mystical feel, and the deep hue of red robes only added to the spiritual element.

Moving through the inner walls of the Jokhang became an even more enriching experience. In the center of the monastery were rows of brightly-colored benches used by monks chanting mantras. Surrounding the central area were many small shrines, and an inspiring two-story tall Buddha. Along the outer perimeter, there was a thick stream of people as the worshippers moved through the shrines (always in a clockwise manner). Unlike tourists, visiting a monastery is an all day affair, and every sight along the way is deserving of money or a prayer.

I was fortunate enough to strike up several conversations with monks who spoke English at the Jokhang. One of them was a younger monk who simply showed me the living quarters, the kitchen, and a bathroom that was complete with a giant poster of the famous English soccer player David Beckham. However, there was an interesting elder monk on the upper floor who was re-filling an enormous monkey-shaped basin with chang (Tibetan barley beer) for the passing pilgrims. With beer splashing all over my clothes as he tried to pour and the endless pilgrims tried to drink, the monk spoke extensively about his hopes for the future and his strong desire to “see his Lama” again.

While I have been able to capture some terrific shots of the Tibetan landscape and architecture, I have very few photos of the Tibetan people. Whether it is giving money to beggars, prostrating in front of holy sights, or chanting hymns in front of the Buddhist figures, Tibetan Buddhists come to Lhasa once in a lifetime as part of a pilgrimage to better their karma. Taking pictures of such acts is something I have not been able to do - just as I would not want endless tourists taking pictures of my brother’s baptism or my sister’s wedding.

Since I still had several hours before my time slot at the Potala Palace, I went to the unfrequented Tibetan museum. My guide book warned of extensive propaganda throughout the museum, but I could not believe my eyes as I read the various accounts along the walls. I ended up sneaking plenty of pictures because I doubted many people would believe the Chinese government would be so audacious as to use terms such as: “Tibetan liberation”, “democratic reform in Tibet”, and Tibet as being a part of the “cultural tradition in China”. Perhaps the line that was most relevant to my day (given all the destruction that occurred at the Potala and Jokhang) was: “thanks to the cordial concern of the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party… [for] the preservation of [Tibetan] cultural relics”. I should not be writing about such things, but I have become extremely disillusioned with the many destructive aspects of China.

Things got slightly better in the afternoon as I climbed the stairs to the imposing Potala Palace. The buildings suffered extensive artillery fire and bombing during both the Cultural Revolution and the “Tibetan liberation”, which left many rooms barren. Making things worse, the 110 resident monks are not allowed to wear monk robes!

I was tired of biting my tongue for fear of the endless Chinese guards circling – especially after the rewarding experience earlier in the day. Consequently, I spoke with every monk I came across, and thanked them for sharing such beauty with the world. The main idea I emphasized was that despite all the degradation and destruction the country has been subjected to, the monks should remain proud of a magnificence that cannot be destroyed. Several monks had tears in their eyes as they explained the former use of the rooms, making it evident that the scars from history have not been forgotten – or forgiven.

Buying Tickets to the Potala Palace

I left for the Potala Palace ticketing booth at 6:30am along with Gertrud, and we ended up waiting in line for five hours. If we had come much later we would have been out of luck because there are only 200 or so tickets available each day.

There was very little to occupy our time while waiting, so we got lost in conversation. Gertrud must be in her mid-60s, and although she would never come out and directly say such a thing, she has been to over 50 countries from around the world - including seemingly impossible places in Africa and South America. There are too many interesting stories to recount on this blog, but some day I will visit her family in Los Angeles and allow her to tell them herself.

When we finally received our tickets we were surprised to see it was for the following day at a specified time. This gave me the rest of the afternoon to sign up for classes in Hong Kong, explore more of Lhasa’s markets, and get some much needed rest.

Drepung Monastery, the Oracle at Nechung, and Football in the Streets

Drepung Monastery Photo Gallery

Nechung Monastery Photo Gallery

Lhasa Photo Gallery

 

Welcome to the Drepung Monastery…

Formerly the world’s largest monastery, Drepung translates to ‘rice heap’ in reference to the large number of white monastic buildings stretching across the hillside. The monastery was first founded in the early 1400s, and in 1530 the second Dalai Lama established the Drepung's Ganden Palace as the home of the Dalai Lamas. (The Potala Palace was later built by the fifth and most famous Dalai Lama in 1649). Although there are only 800 monks still living at Drepung, the monastery once housed 10,000 monks, complete with 180 estates and over 20,000 serfs working the lands.

 

Eager to begin another day in Lhasa, yet content to savor every second of sleep in an actual bed, I was indecisive over when to get out of bed this morning. Fortunately, Beijing-time means the sun comes up quite late in the mornings, so I was able to have my cake and eat it too.

The early morning streets are busy just like any other city. There were farmers lining the streets with hemp bags containing vegetables or rice, rounded yak butter piled into stacks, and men offloading massive chunks of yak meat.

By 10am I alighted from another public bus at Drepung Monastery (described above.) One of the first things I came across were a group of women burning juniper incense in much the same way people burn incense sticks. However, as anyone who has ever tried lighting a Christmas tree on fire, juniper is extremely flammable and creates a lot of smoke.

Having had such a rewarding experience yesterday at Sera Monastery, I immediately began another kora around Drepung's monastic complex. Climbing at an altitude of 3600m always makes life difficult, especially because I haven't given myself the appropriate 4 days to acclimatize, but the views over Lhasa, Buddhist rock paintings, and struggling alongside Buddhist pilgrims makes the hardships disappear.

One of the more troubling parts of this particular kora was seeing the massive destruction left over from the bombardment by the Red Guards when they took Tibet. Further, while I was walking through various monastic buildings within the complex, I saw communist propaganda carelessly painted across one of the chapel hallways and a scratched out portrait of Chairman Mao in a doorway. Such reminders of the dreadful abuse inflicted upon the Tibetans is  a lot tougher to imagine when you experience their unparalleled lifestyle firsthand.

 

I have been looking all over Lhasa for the book Seven Years in Tibet, but I may have to wait until Katmandu before I can find any English novels - especially when books containing such controversial topics are sure to be censored.

I spent several hours exploring the dark halls of the monastery. The places that stand out the most in my mind were the rooms containing century old scrolls, an enormous room used by the monks for their prayers, and the various rooms designated as a shrine to a particular Buddhist deity.

Afterward, I walked through the hills for about one kilometer to a temple containing the Oracle of the Dalai Lama. The buildings were each painted blood red on the outside, and there was a definite sense of foreboding about the place. The inner courtyard had dramatic (if not gruesome) murals encircling the walls that depicted the slaughter and torture possible by various Buddhist deities. The mutilated bodies and various torture techniques (miter into the groin or fiery scepter into the anus) were reminiscent of the scenes of Hell painted on the roof of the Duomo in Florence, Italy.

Walking through the doorway into the primary temple was another eerie experience because the doorway was painted with flayed human skins in obvious torture. Inside, there were a dozen monks chanting in the center of the hall and the strong juniper smoke made it very difficult to see. Further, as I worked around the perimeter of the main hall - always in a clockwise direction - I was overcome with the smell of alcohol. The source came from through the small 1-1.5m doorways leading to adjacent rooms which each contained a shrine to a deity. While the Buddhist monks wore masks to avoid breathing the thick fumes of alcohol, the pilgrims left open bottles of alcohol inside as a form of offering.

By the time I finished exploring Nechung Monastery I was completely wiped out. Nevertheless, I was keen on seeing as much of Tibet as possible, and so I walked the remaining four kilometers back into town. En route, I passed half a dozen Tibetan boys swimming stark-naked in a small creek (the water must have been frigid), and I later came across a group of boys playing football in the streets. They were somewhat nervous when I first joined their circle to knock the ball around, but after I started juggling the ball with a huge smile they warmed to me. Fortunately, I know a couple tricks with a football that clearly hadn't been introduced to Tibet, and I am sure in a few days those kids will be performing them better than me.

In the winding hours of the afternoon, I met the two German students, Rafael (23) and Chris (24) for beer and to work out the final details for our overland trip to Nepal. Even though I was only on the roof of a hotel, at five stories up I was able to look out over all of Lhasa.

After confirming our details with a travel agent, I spent a relaxing evening dinner on the roof of my own hostel with the group I have been staying with since Ge'ermu (China). Oddly enough, one of my companions is a 72 year old woman named Gertrud who lived in southern Germany until she married an American soldier after WWII – this is identical to the story of my own grandmother, Gertrud.

Bus to the Roof of the World and Debates at Sera Monastery

Bus to Lhasa Photo Gallery

Sera Monastery

Lhasa Photo Gallery

 

Introduction to Lhasa…

As the heart and soul of famed Tibetan culture, the former home of the Dalai Lama has a mystique that no other city in the world can rival. The imposing Potala Palace, which dominates the skyline, strongly settles what is at the forefront of Tibetan minds: Buddhism and their beloved Dalai Lama. Although he is now exiled in India, the religious fervor practiced on the streets and in places like the Jokhang Temple make a trip to the roof of the world anything but ordinary.

 

Traveling to Tibet by bus (18 hours) turned into a much better decision than going by train or airplane. Not only was I able to hop out and take breathtaking pictures at our stops along the way, but I also had a slightly more gradual adjustment to the altitude climb. Going from the desert, which I assume is at or near sea level, to an altitude of 3600m (nearly two miles above sea level) can have dramatic consequences. Fortunately, other than a minor headache and being out of breath with any real physical exertion, I am feeling pretty good.

It is important I mention my first view of Tibet because I can not think of any better way to introduce the country (“semi-autonomous region,” to be politically correct.) The bus made its final pit stop at 7am, waking up everyone in the process. I stumbled off with my used People's Liberation Army coat, and was presented with the most enchanting sunrise I have ever seen. There was lush greenery all around me, a crystal-clear stream running to my left, trademark mountain ranges on all sides, clouds of the purest white, and a blue sky being overtaken by rays from heaven. Such natural and unadulterated beauty I have never known existed.

Before I continue with more of my travels, I want to stress that the Tibetan culture might be all that surpasses the Tibetan landscape. Unfortunately, I cannot describe the culture as easily as it can't be captured with a photograph. Suffice to say that they are the kindest, most vibrant and colorful, welcoming and enchanting people I have come across. Any injustices that have been handed down to them are a disgrace to all of those who dealt it out, and to those who knowingly stood by and allowed unwarranted desecration and mutilation. If nothing else, it is a testament to the Tibetan people that they have not lost any of their magic.

As for the rest of the drive into Lhasa, I saw endless yaks, goats, wild horses, and Tibetan pilgrims. The yaks are free to roam, and move across the roads the way elephants do in Africa. Similarly, we came across a band of wild horses that were galloping along the side of the road. There were numerous pilgrims who would bend in worship, and then lie completely prone with their arms stretched in the direction of the Potala Temple. The pilgrims would then rise and re-peat the process, but with their feet in the same location as their hands were a second before - basically moving forward one body length at a time. Seeing this kind of devotion 40 miles outside the city makes it even more frustrating to think of all the religious persecution the Tibetans have suffered.

The main thing on my mind when I arrived at my hostel in Lhasa was how I was going to reach Nepal. I was worried that I would not be able to find anyone traveling overland, and all of my plans would be ruined. As luck would have it, I struck up a conversation with two German students at a restaurant while we were eating lunch at adjacent tables. They are also heading to Nepal, and agreed to postpone their departure a few days so I could tag along and keep costs low. Fate must owe me a few favors because I have been riding the wings of fortune thus far. Additionally, they have both traveled to India and Nepal before, which means I will have even more information before arriving!

Even though I had only been in Lhasa for two hours, I didn't want to just sit around and I decided to start seeing nearby temples. With directions from my hostel, I caught a bus to the outskirts of the city in search of Sera Monastery. This complex is one of the oldest of the Gepung Order, and there were once over 5,000 monks studying here.

Upon arriving, I immediately made a Kora, or clock-wise mini-pilgrimage around the monastery walls.

The walk took me well off the beaten path and into the “hills” (mini-mountains) surrounding the monastery. I came across a well-hidden monastery that still had a concealed picture of the outlawed Dalai Lama. This is a huge offense in Tibet as the Chinese government will arrest anyone in possession of such a picture, and although such things are never stated, techniques far worse than imprisonment are not far from the norm.

Further on, I joined three Tibetan children playing a form of jump-rope near a collection of small caves. I sat resting for half an hour (the altitude is wearying) and learned the technique of the game. After my breathing became normalized, I hopped into the jumprope and began the skipping they showed me - left foot, left foot, clap clap, right foot, right foot, twist and stomp! I was horrible at the game, but the two 12 year old girls and 13 year old boy were laughing hysterically.

When they saw how out of breath I was from the game, they led me to a small brook further in the hills. Their grandmother was there washing clothes, and she had me sit down while she helped me wash off in the cool Tibetan water. Although the water was frigid, I did my best to sit still while she poured a bucket over my head. It has been a long time since I have basked in such authentic smiles of mutual appreciation.

Thinking things could not get any better, the children then led me to a ledge where I was able to take in terrific aerial views of Lhasa. Seeing the monastery below me and the imposing Potala Palace in the distance made the moment feel too good to be true - I was only three hours off the bus in this new world and already I felt like I was floating through heaven.

After I hiked back down the mountain, I entered the Sera monastery complex to watch a famous set of debates that occur among the monks. It is a way for the “wiser” monks to test and challenge the younger monks on philosophical issues - and they do not go easy by any means.

Upon entering the main courtyard, I saw that all the monks were gathered into small clusters on the white rocks that covered the ground. Each cluster had a head monk who stood over the others while posing questions to his pupils. However, each question was accompanied by a dramatic body motion and a violent smacking of the hands in the direction of the intended pupil.

The way it works is the following: the monk will slap as loudly as he can every time he poses a question, and will slap in such a way that it is clear who he is questioning - meaning he gets right into the face of the other monks. Needless to say, it made for quite a scene as dozens of monks were slapping their hands and stomping the rocks as loudly as they could while the pupils argued their responses.

The debates ended at around 6pm, and since Tibet is on Beijing time there was still plenty of sunlight left in the day. After catching another minibus back into town, I winded my way through the small walkways in the heart of Lhasa.

The markets and items for sale are far different from those in China. There are no factories mass-producing goods (although it is moving in this direction with the recently completed train from Beijing), so most things on sale are unique and interesting. Further, there is an endless maze of alleys making it easy to get lost shopping with monks, farmers, tourists, and any one else who may have found themselves on the roof of the world.

As a final note, I slept like a baby after my first shower in five days, and my first bed in an equal length of time. However, I couldn't escape the feeling that I was floating on an island in the middle of the sky, and that I could topple at any moment. The best analogy I can think of is the feeling one gets while flying, or the rocking one experiences while on a boat - it is expected that there will be movement in both circumstances. That Tibet is stable is a reality I am having a hard time getting used to.