China 2007

You may think 6 AM was brutal, but 5:30 today was worse. The Tibetan philosophy can be summed up in a nutshell: wake up early, drive fast, and honk loudly. Our voyage deeper into the Tibetan country took us out of town, on a bridge over a river that extends all the way from India, and onto one of the roughest dirt roads in existence. Whenever we rounded a blind corner, our driver seemed to accelerate. And honk.

Tibetan horns are LOUD. We got a dose as five caravans transporting Chinese infantry passed us on the main street last night - they didn't hesitate to make sure they had the right-of-way. If you're standing on the street, ouch. But if you're in another car, it's a little bit better, unless your driver also has a happy horn finger. Still, we ran into quite a few big buses at bad times, when we realized how grateful for that horn we were. Our next city, Chongqing, has imposed a fine for honking, in an attempt to reduce noise pollution.

We passed a peak at 14,000 feet - not the highest our journey to Tibet would throw at us - and we stopped for a photo op. Prayer flags draped across the power lines, crossing the road and assuming piles on either side. The clumps covered the entirety of the two little hills on either side of the road, interspersed with small incense fires. I had seen the pictures of Mt. Everest - it amuses me that while other religions strive for heaven, the comparatively unknown TIbetans/Nepalese have the market cornered in "getting-close-to-God." They work to great lengths to do amazing things, and then they treat such feats with humility.

We continued on for several hours until the road became paved, and then, immediately, we passed into the little town that had grown up around the monastery. There were hundreds of pilgrims, and many tents selling items for the annual festival, the monk dance. We were allowed to mingle with the crowd, mainly old and poor. Some obnoxious westerner actually went into the square in which the monks were dancing. The monks came out from the monastery in elaborate costumes, while accompanists on horn and drum kept an eerie background beat. We were given a brief walk-through of the place, including the main chamber, the chapel of protection, the living corridors, and the roof. Those of us who cared spun the scriptures - and then we watched sheep scuttle past and pilgrims walk many times, always clockwise, around various monuments in the area. The low moan from the horns of the ceremony droned on. I find the Tibetan sect of Buddhism to be strangely divergent from much of the Buddhist literature in existence: it places a high emphasis on a God, or diety, and ceremonies and pilgrimiges.

Nonetheless, everybody was friendly. We encountered one demanding beggar, and some of the people wanted to be paid for their pictures, but they were all friendly about it. Mrs. James considered us the diplomats of peace, spreading smiles to everyone who had never seen a white face before. Few cars hogged the street, as the masses in dark jackets, long pants and mid-hieght stovepipe hats carefully proceeded. We drove back the way we came, thankful to reach paved road once more. Our lunch consisted of potatoes, a variety of cold meat, mushy banana and some vegetables. We ate by the side of the road, lulled asleep to the baying of mountain goats on a hillside far, far away.

The road we would have taken to Gyantse was being paved, so we had to take a 6-hour detour. We passed through small villages of 100 people, narrow gorges where farmers tended their wheat and barley. Wherever we stopped, people came out. In the valleys, children ran from schools to say hello and receive our donations of food. In the high passes, farmers came from their fields to sit in the shade and watch us go about our touristic business. After we exhausted our resources of Tibetan music videos and movies, much of the bus played cards, throwing them into the underside of a frisbee. Once the driver stopped to fix the air conditioning, but that only lasted for a while. We drove all day and into the evening, encountering frequent accidents and road maintenance detours. Every few miles, a barricade of dirt blocked the road, and we were forced onto dirt road for a bit. We shooed all forms of wildlife off the road, and eventually drifted into a big city. We stopped at the main hotel for a quick dinner, where yak meat was a delicacy. The flavor was a cross between pork and beef, slightly sweeter, and quite tender. It was the best exotic animal I had eaten. Light was becoming scarce, so we had no time to observe the amazing monastery on top of the hill. This was the second-biggest city of Tibet - 130,000 people - second only to Lhasa, which recently jumped 50,000 to 200 thousand people (following the inauguration of the high-speed train service).

Only one more hour, Nutu said, and as we lost the pavement again, only thirty more minutes. We were all tired and sore, but no longer hungry. A few people were sick - not sure if it was germ, altitude or long-bus-ride related. Our hotel - the Gyangtse Hotel - was pretty much downtown. A few shops were scattered down the street until the scarce prospect of tourism drove them to an end. I wandered the streets with my roommate and neighbor, our first stop being the supermarket. Oreos couldn't have been fifty cents, a giant bag of wafers (I'm talking the size of my head) only a dollar. Considering the remoteness of the area, and the size of the shop, the prices amazed me. After Will started talking about a yak jacket for twenty dollars, I vowed to get one once we reached the big city. It would weigh me down, but I could sure use it in the Los Angeles winter. Perhaps even in the remaining Tibetan evenings. It would suit our domicile for the following two nights: the Yak Hotel. The Nepalese influence on religion, architecture and way of life (which is, essentially, religion) is apparent everywhere.

I returned to my room, feet tired after a long day of... sitting. My roommate let matches burn to clear out the mothball smell, as there was no way to get air flowing through the room. Sophomores, I say. I performed my necessary technological maintenance, with time to spare - a first for the trip. I might actually get a decent night's sleep.