How could it be? How did it happen? Is it really happening…? Surely some lucky star guides my path…
Was I worried about high altitude sickness? Not really. Only a hundred years before had I not traveled with Garry to La Paz, Bolivia? Though sleepless the entire first night and diminished appetite I had not suffered other ailments. Neither did Garry.
Lhasa’s elevation (I meditated), at 3630-m. towers by 53-m. above La Paz at 3577. 53-m could be a significant difference or nothing at all…
I looked out of the aircraft window as it approached the mysterious Tibetan Plateau. Four hours and thirty minutes flight over tawny landscapes of barren mountains, over some of the highest peaks in the world covered by ice and snow. Today I would land in yesterday’s forbidden kingdom with only one Tibetan phrase to my knowledge: Tashi De Le… How are you…
The high altitude did not make me sick, but by the time I boarded the seedy airport-bus and reached the city center I was in a mad mood… The mad mood perhaps caused by the effects of high altitude was unexpected and very unpleasant, yet beyond my control.
At the Lhasa bus station I viewed with anger the several dozen drivers of bicycle-rickshaws competing for a handful of Chinese and Tibetan travelers and one lone tourist…me! “Rickshaw Warriors…” I reflected callously…
The room I had booked at the Guest House was spacious and relatively clean but its odor did not appeal to me, neither did the bed or the TV. The bathroom was damp and the water from rusty plumbing, cold, (conditions I would normally take for granted considering the economical rate). The reception was staffed by very young girls, only one spoke English. And by one unfriendly man who might have been the manager or owner… Perhaps his mood was as mad as mine…
I asked for a city map, and directions to the train station, I wanted to leave Lhasa immediately… Walking out of the guest house (which really wasn’t that bad) I became aware that the insidious odor was not unique to the guest house room, but was the distinctive odor of Lhasa, The odor of yak, of cloth woven of yak wool… of yak butter. The yak butter Tibetans use generously for cooking, buttering the tea, and burning in the votive candles…
Around the corner from the Johkan temple and Barkor area I discovered a small hotel owned by a pleasant English-speaking Tibetan born and raised in Dharamsala. The room he offered was crammed with musty furniture, the dip in the mattress deep, the exposed plumbing pipes green and the water cold, but my mood was mellowing, I was regaining the euphoria of being in Tibet…
The rice, yogurt and yak-meat curry I ate for an early dinner was excellent, but couldn’t say so of the Bo Chak, the salty brew made with yak butter and tea. That would be an acquired taste!
On the way back to the hotel, in an outdoor equipment shop I bought a sleeping bag and went to bed
It was as dark as nigh the next morning when I woke at 5am. By 6am armed with my humble digital camera, I shook awake the night-watchman comfortably curled in the reception’s window sill, when he opened the massive wooden door, I slipped out with the eagerness of a caged animal… In the darkness before sunrise I walked toward the Potala Palace.
1 comment:
great pictures and story
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