Thursday, July 19, 2001
Tibet's Big Smoke
(8 July)
The first thing we noticed about Lhasa was its pace. Not so fast,
perhaps, compared with a big American city or even most big
Chinese cities. But, you have to remember, we had just come from
an environment where the fastest moving thing is a yak, and where
we didn't find it unusual to wait four days just to get a ride
somewhere. It was a novelty just to see a shop selling more than
candy and instant noodles, or to see another westerner. Now in
Lhasa, however, the thought of talking to a tourist was too much --
they spoke so quickly and loudly, it seemed; I felt like a grandma
trying to get on the freeway. Almost all the tourists had flown in, and
they were either chock-full of sight-seeing energy for their two
weeks in Lhasa, or sleeping all day from the altitude. The streets
of the Tibetan quarter sparkled with the white skin of video-camera
wielding tourists, often walking in gangs known as tour groups.
In a few short weeks, Julette and I had gone from being the new
kids, drilling every traveler we met for information, to old hands
in Lhasa, doling out info and advice to the new new kids.
The second thing we noticed about Lhasa was the luxury. For less money
than we'd paid for the cheapest guesthouse in Ali -- with no electricity,
no running water, and a hike outside to use the bathroom -- we had every
amenity we could think of. We couldn't really think of that many, by
the way, but ignorance in this case was bliss. The Yak Hotel, run by
really friendly and helpful Tibetans, has clean beds, toilets that
flush, hot showers, a laundry sink, and even an outdoor covered lounge
with running water -- a perfect place for cooking up all the cheap
food we found in the market. Fresh vegetables were such a treat that
we almost gave up rice and noodles.
With such easy living, my body began to recover from the rigors of
altitude in western Tibet. My nose, which hadn't stopped peeling
since I burned it for the first time on my trek in Pakistan, finally
smoothed out -- SPF 30 wasn't strong enough for 5000 meters, apparently.
The cracked skin on my fingers began to heal; moisturizing cream was
no match for spilling gasoline on my hands every day while fiddling
with the camp stove, among other forms of abuse my sensitive
programmer's fingers weren't accustomed to. Even the blisters on my
lips, souvenirs from Kailash, slowly went away, restoring my previous
unblemished beauty.
Looking in a mirror that wasn't spotted with
mud because it was bolted to the side of a truck gave me a surprise --
a stranger greeted me, a mountain man with dark skin and a long beard.
The habit of shaving had been left behind with mirrors and runing water,
letting the brown foliage of a full beard cover my jowls. For the first
time I can remember, the man in the mirror looked more or less my age.
Even spending two months hanging out with Juliette, a twenty year old
who doesn't hesitate at an opportunity to remind me of my rapidly
advancing years, didn't give me as much pause as that moment in front
of the mirror. Fortunately, I've never been one to put much stock in
age, either positive or negative, so the shock was short lived.
In as much time as it takes to find my razor, I can become young again,
I tell myself. But for now I'm sticking with the old look, either out
of curiosity or out of laziness.
Lhasa itself was no big surprise; except for the Tibetan quarter, it's
a chinese city. The only way you can tell you're in Lhasa is the Tibetan
script -- small characters above the large Chinese ones -- and glimpses
of the Potala palace. Visiting the Potala was a little depressing -- since
Dharamsala, I'd seen so many photographs of this symbol of Tibet, it had
acquired a meaning for me that I hadn't been aware of. Until His Holiness
the Dalai Lama fled Chinese occupied Tibet in 1951, it had been his
winter home and the center of government for all Tibet. Since then, it's
been turned into a historic monument, a tourist attraction. In front has
been built a Chinese-style public square, complete with vendors and a
flagpole sporting a bright red Chinese flag. All around the square were
special decorations for the upcoming 50-year anniversary of the liberation
of Tibet. For the anniversary celebration, the Chinese government is
refusing foreigners' entry into Tibet and no longer issuing visa
extensions within the Tibet Autonomous Region, presumably in case some
sort of military action is necessary they'd rather report it in their
own way. Also for the gala event, they're re-paving the main road through
the Tibetan quarter, which makes walking around an adventure in wet-cement
avoidance (look for tiny German footprints next time you're in Lhasa).
All along the street, Tibetans work night and day digging up the road
and pouring new concrete -- a strange irony that they work so hard to
prepare for a celebration of the improvement of the quality of their lives.
Even though the Potala seems so lifeless -- nothing more than a
three-dimensional version of the photographs -- and most of the city
is Chinese, the Tibetan quarter retains a lot of character and is a
pleasant place to be. Juliette complains of the lack of parks in the
city. It's true -- our only refuge from pavement and cobblestones
was the Yak Hotel or a day trip to a monastery on the outskirts of
town.
Getting out of Lhasa for any reason is special -- instantly you're
back in Tibet, the landscape as varied and beautiful as
you could ask for, with the wide Lhasa river valley branching off
to its tributaries, which in turn rush down green slopes from rocky
peaks. Nestled into certain saddles and foothills of these mountains
are famous Tibetan monasteries like Ganden and Tsurphu, peaceful
and beautiful in their tall sloped walls, and in the way they seem
to grow right out of the mountainside. Most of these monasteries were
destroyed in the Chinese "Cultural Revolution" of 1959, but the
well-known ones have been rebuilt since the, at least to appease
tourists. Fortunately it's easy to avoid paying the 25 quai the
Chinese government forces the monks to collect -- either by waiting
until nobody else is around, and the monk lets you in for free,
or merely walking the kora around the monastery to another entrance.
Normally walking a kora earns spiritual merit, but in the case of
sneaking into a monastery to avoid paying the Chinese government
money, the merit spirits are still scratching their heads and
shaking their abacuses.
Juliette: "One day I speak perfectly English."
Ult: (laughs)
Juliette: "Perhaps not today, but one day."
(18 July)
After ten days in and around the city, the imminent expiration
of our visas prompted us to get out of dodge. We boarded a sleeper
bus, unsettlingly similar to the one we'd spent 50 hours in to get
to Lhasa. This time, though, we each had a bed and the ride was only
30 hours long -- the blink of an eye, really. We also had the company
of Wim, a nice Belgian guy with whom we'd shared a dorm; Philip, a
German we'd run into repeatedly ever since Karakul Lake two months ago,
who seemed to have something bad to say about everything ("I like that
word he used, 'crap,'" Juliette commented. "What does it mean?"); and
a French couple, Pascal and Monique, who'd been traveling for 16 years,
mostly in their sailboat. Making the trip more pleasant, the road was
smooth and even paved in parts. Next time will be even easier, as by
then the bridges will be finished, negating the need for all those
pesky river crossings.
Goodbye, Lhasa; goodbye, Tibet; goodbye mountains, rivers, prayer flags,
cairns, stupas, and yaks. See you again soon...