Snapshots from the TAR

Friends, again I seem to be writing somewhat damply, in the midst of a downpour. This time, however, I am not in Jianzha. Now I am in Dram, a Tibetan city that butts Nepal. It smells like curry in this terraced metropolis, Hindi mixes with Tibetan, and, at this altitude, I would better describe myself as inside of the rain clouds than below them.

So soooo much has happened since my last update. We did manage to buy some train tickets to Lhasa from the "mafia" at an exorbitant price, and thus I have been gallivanting about the Tibetan Autonomous Region for the past week or so. When faced with the sheer magnitude of things that have transpired, I am, as usual, at a bit of a loss. Therefore I feel that the best approach for this post is a series of snapshots, or textual postcards, if you will.

The Highest Railway in the World
This is only the first of several "Highest in the World" I will encounter during my travels. Chinese families sit placidly with oxygen tubes in their noses, at least until we pass a herd of Tibetan deer--then pandemonium ensues among the passengers. Even with the extreme rip-off price we forked over to the mafia, we are only able to get hard seats, and during the 24 hour journey I learn that I am allergic to the floor of the cars of the highest train in the world. The clouds appear to descend towards the earth.

Lhasa
This city smells like incense in general, or perhaps like hot milk tea. Pilgrims mix with tourists mix with brigades of Chinese militia in riot gear, and the sky will take your breath away. Our hostel is in the heart of the old city, and I spend much of my time pleasantly bewildered in an impossible network of narrow, winding streets.

Jokhang Temple
This is the holiest structure in all of Tibet, and it is a three minute walk from my hostel in Lhasa. Pilgrims prostrate themselves around the entire building. The interior is also teeming, and it smells like butter lamps and reverence. I can feel the intangible weight of history in this place. Also, there's a hole in the wall where, if you're a good Buddhist, you're supposed to be able to hear the ripple of the lake-water upon which the temple was built. I hear the resounding silence of my un-enlightenment.

The Debating Monks
They sit in the dappled shade of a courtyard in Sera monastery--at least 50 monks, clad in burgundy and gold, gesturing animatedly. They are debating the intricacies of existence. Of course I can't understand a word that is said, but I love watching the discourse unfold. When a monk makes a point, he thrusts his hands forward with a resounding clap. Then, while his left hand symbolically covers any holes in his argument, his right hand lifts his audience free of suffering.

Tibetan Michael Jackson
I sit in an odd club in Lhasa beneath flashing lights of many colors. There are many bad singers, and we are served beer in shot glasses. Then, finally, he comes onstage: Tibetan Michael Jackson. I have never seen a moonwalk walked with more style. Even Nikki (a South African with whom I am traveling) agrees that he is damn good, and she's met the real Jackson. A reincarnation? ...perhaps. He is followed by a midget who steals the show.

Breakfast
Yogurt from yak, tsampa (barley flour+yak butter+hot milk+sugar+yak cheese), and coffee. It is spread before me in indescribable glory. I could eat this for breakfast every day for the rest of my life and be fulfilled.

Potala Palace
It costs a ridiculous 100Y, and we are brusquely shepherded through like cows to slaughter (to the Chinese government, the Potala Palace is just another resource to exploit, like coal). Nevertheless, I stand in awe at the throne of the 14th Dalai Lama. Heaps of currency--from yuan to dollars--are at the foot of this empty seat, and it is festooned with white scarves.

The Solar Eclipse
I spend the night before this event sleeping on the roof of my hostel, and upon awakening I beam at the spectacular, impressionistic could-cover blanketing Lhasa. This, however, is not conducive to a climactic viewing of the biggest solar eclipse in 100 years. Jon, Nikki, Miles, and I put on silly mock-mountaineering goggles we bought at the street market and take pictures, but the net effect of this monumentous celestial alignment is a slight darkening of the cloudy sky.

Dijiredoo Monk
The monks chant as they perform a ceremony, and, although the sound is organic and fluid, one voice is particularly noteworthy. It resounds deeply off the stone walls of the monastery, like humpback whales or mountains shifting.

The Nunnery
We are invited to sit with the nuns as they chant, and the peaceful sound of ceremony is interrupted by their giggles. They make us drink copious amounts of sweet tea. The nun beside me entertains herself my tickling my bare feet with a stray feather, and mysterious cakes, humungous and painted red, are carried by to an unknown destination.

Peace Pilgrims
We are in our Land Rover, cruising out of Lhasa, when we pass a group of 25 peace pilgrims on their way to the holy city. They started in Kham, have been on pilgrimage for the past three months, and are prostrating all the way there. They are dusty and dwarfed by the semi trucks that blast by. With the sight of these pilgrims bowing their weary bodies toward Lhasa, I begin to fathom the strength of the Tibetan people.

Nam-sto Lake.
Holy shit the word "beautiful" shatters into a million pieces when applied to this place. We cross a 5230 meter pass with a clap of thunder and a tinkling of hail, and the most sacred lake in Tibet (and the highest lake in the world) yawns before us like a mirage--it's an other-worldly shade of blue and seemingly boundless. I should probably write an epic poem or maybe a novel about the clouds, because the lake is literally in the sky (hence "Nam-sto," or "Sky-lake"). With the storm passing by, it looks like the clouds are sucking the lake up into heaven, or perhaps vice-versa.

The Nomad Tent
We spend the night in a yak fur tent beside the sacred lake, with a family of nomads. I swear I can almost touch every star--I have never seen a better sky. We are fed tsampa (with especially healthy helpings of butter) and sweet tea for dinner, sleep beneath our own personal flocks of sheep, and are warm.

Mount Everest
Everest: Qoomolangma: Highest Entity on the Planet: Pretty Awesome. Upon our approach, Her Mightiness th Mountain is shrouded in clouds, but when we pull in to base camp (elevation ~18,000 feet) she decides to show her face in all it's glory. I can't convince myself that this is really and truly Mt Everest before me. It is like meeting a famous person, or learning that the tooth fairy is actually my mom. Nevertheless I am in awe, especially when the mountain glows at gloaming and the moon emerges like a silver nail-clipping. I experience no ill-effects at the enormous altitude, but running is difficult and red wine is far more potent than one might expect.

...and now I am here, in Dram, at the southernmost corner of Tibet. Tomorrow we drive back to Lhasa for a covert day or two (our permits expire). Then we embark on a 42 hour train ride to Beijing where there will be a week or so of merry-making and exploration prior to our return to Oregon. It's been awesome, it's been beautiful, and there is so much more to say except I'm frustrated with adjectives so I think I'll sign off.