Date: Sun, 30 Apr 2006
To: touring@phred.org
From: “Michael Ayers” <michael@terminalia.org>
Subject: Gondwana - Timeless culture, Thin
air, and Temporarily Trapped in Tibet
Tashi Delek Phreds,
Seeing the incomparable and
somewhat magical land of Tibet has been a goal of mine for many years. Seeing it as part of a bike tour, even more so. Cross another one off the list, as three
weeks of sometimes tough, but always fascinating, riding has taken care of
that.
Tibet might as well be on
another planet compared to the rest of Asia, or for the rest of the Earth for
that matter. From a geographic perspective, it is a country placed in an
extreme position. Lifted high into the sky thanks to the continuing collision
of the Indian portion of Gondwanaland with Asia, the entire country is within
the domain of the mighty Himalaya. The
highest peaks of the range form the country’s southern boundaries with India,
Nepal, and Bhutan, while the rest of the land comprises the Tibetan Plateau.
That term is a little misleading, as the plateau actually consists of numerous
high valleys which are separated by tall peaks that reach only slightly lower
heights than the main range. In fact, after the initial climb on the first day,
95% of my route was above 3,800 meters, higher than the highest pass I climbed
in Bhutan. That fact usually affects most visitors physically, at least for a
while, myself included. The high elevation,
and especially the extreme height of the southern peaks, in large part
determines the climate of the plateau. Despite lying at a
relatively temperate ~30 degrees latitude, for most of the year the
temperature is quite brisk, especially at night. The southern range also
prevents any significant moisture from flowing up from the south, save for a
short rainy season in mid-summer. Therefore, the land is quite arid, with
little native vegetation, and even fewer crops, able to survive during the long
dry season, or the wet season as well, for that matter. To the west, the
situation is even drier as the country reaches towards the extreme deserts of
central Asia. While to the east, in the Amdo and Khampa regions of Tibet, which begin to lose a little
elevation as they move towards the border with the Sichuan region of China, the
land is considerably greener. However, most of the country experiences only 4-6
weeks of “summer” annually. Once again, my visit was maybe a month sooner than
would have been ideal. However, I had delayed it as much as I possibly could given the constraints of the rest of my route and schedule.
The ancient and recent history of Tibet are stories that are well known, or at
least should be, by everyone. For hundreds of years the Tibetans lived largely
in isolation, thanks to their lofty location in the mountains. Slowly the
society evolved from a collection of small local kingdoms, to a unified, and
largely pacifist, theocracy based on their own distinct version of Buddhist
teachings. The philosophical and most of the political world in Tibet during
that time revolved around the leadership of the Dalai Lamas, a six hundred, or
so, year succession of the highly revered, almost
mythically worshiped, leaders of Tibetan Buddhism. The population remained
small in that era, and was mostly rural, being tightly, but often precariously,
bound to their environment in the way that most peoples who live in extreme
environments are.
That all changed in 01950,
when China forcibly annexed Tibet. Their rational for doing so was based on
their assertions that Tibet had “always been a part of China,” and that they
were “liberating” the Tibetans from the oppressive feudal rule of the Dalai
Lama. However, while various Chinese dynasties had made claims to Tibet over
the centuries, the Tibetans never had considered themselves to be part of China
and certainly in no need of liberation. Predictably, as Tibet had a small,
rural population, no oil deposits, and little Cold War strategic importance,
the international community did little more than issue some weak admonitions,
and the annexation was largely unopposed. That situation continues today, as
the rest of the world says little about Tibet, so as not to offend the world’s
manufacturing superpower, and “fastest growing” economy.
With the frequent
oscillations in the mindset of China during the intervening decades, things
have not always been easy for the Tibetans.
The early years saw considerable violent repression, and the destruction
of many monasteries and other culturally important buildings. The situation was
so dire that in 01959 the Dalai Lama fled the country to exile in India where
he remains to this day. Thousands of ordinary Tibetans followed at that time,
and have continued to do so, migrating to India, and other countries. Since
that time the 14th Dalai Lama has continued to be a rational and
compassionate voice for the Tibetans, and indeed for
everyone else as well. I have read a couple of his books, and feel that he is
the only leader of major religion that I
would describe as brilliant (the others may indeed be, but I have never
heard them say anything that would lead me to believe that they are). That
observation was reinforced in a rather amusing way a few years ago when I had
the good fortune to attend a talk by the Dalai Lama when he visited the U.S.
West Coast. Near the start of his words he said that he liked visiting America
and California because there are many nice things and nice people there. But he continued and said that like
everywhere else there were things that were not so good as well. Pausing for a
moment, he then simply stated, “Too many cars,” a comment which brought forth a
rousing round of applause from the San Francisco crowd. Absolutely
brilliant.
The modern relationship
between Tibet and China changed again in the early ‘90’s when China transformed
again, adopting a totalitarian capitalist system. There have been some
reasonable improvements to the infrastructure of Tibet, including a painfully
slow upgrade to the road network, and delivery of electric power to even the smallest
villages (as long as they lie along the main thoroughfares.) However, the most
noticeable change has been the construction of “modern” urban, commercial zones
in the larger towns, as well as some of the smaller ones, and the migration of
a substantial number of people from China to occupy those areas. The impending
completion of a new railroad from western China to Tibet has the potential to
accelerate that trend, a fact which makes many Tibetans nervous. On the surface
there is no drastic animosity between the Tibetan and Chinese communities,
though they don’t mix all that much. However, I was told that the two groups
don’t really like, or at least completely trust each other, and that most
Tibetans still privately hope for independence. It’s hard to say exactly why
China has wanted to maintain its hold on Tibet over the years. It is neither a
very resource-rich area, nor a particularly good place for China to send
colonists to ease its own overcrowded situation. Perhaps it is just the
perceived prestige of possessing the largest possible blotch of color on a map
of the world. In any case, they make
obvious attempts to make sure anyone who visits knows where they are. In even
small towns, all of the modern service facilities have large, bright signs with
both Chinese and English wording such as, “China Post,” “China
Telecom,” “China Mobile,” and “Petrol China.”
Now, on
to subjects more relevant to the tour. The most important of these are the restrictions placed on travel by
the Chinese government. Independent
travel is prohibited in Tibet, and therefore all tourists must hire a guide and
driver, and need to obtain a special permit in order to visit Tibet at all.
There have been several bike tourists who have managed to travel on their own
over the years, usually by carefully sneaking past the small number of police
checkpoints along the main routes. To be honest, that is what I would have
preferred to do as well. However, that approach only works well when entering
Tibet from the west or east. Coming from the south, which I was forced to do
due to weather and other routing concerns, it is close to impossible as the
route in from Nepal is much more closely watched. So, it had to be another
supported tour for me, which, of course, is more expensive, and more
restrictive. Not my favorite circumstance, but I would have done almost
anything to see Tibet. The first company I looked at runs a lot of cycling
tours in the Himalaya, but I was not very happy with them. They kept trying to
get me to join one of their pre-arranged group tours, where I was told that
things like “team harmony and dynamics” were of prime importance. They also
arranged their tours according to the strange preference of the Chinese that
cyclists fly to the capital, Lhasa, and then ride back
to Nepal. I’ve flown much more than I’ve wanted to already, with some more
unavoidable flights to come, so I was not enthusiastic about that. Also, flying
up to altitude then riding downhill always seems like a huge cheat to me. I
really hoped to ride in both directions, from Nepal, up to Lhasa,
and back again. Fortunately, one of the
principal guides from that company, Surendra Lama,
recently started his own tour company, Firante Treks
& Expeditions (http://www.firante.com),
and he was much more accommodating to my needs, which was a big help. “Want to
ride in both directions? No problem!” So, I booked my tip through him, and all
went well. The original plan was a tour from Kathmandu
to Lhasa and back over 34 days, which seemed like a
long time to me but really wasn’t. The costs ended up being a little less than
the daily tariff for Bhutan, however this time it only
included a guide and driver while in Tibet, and all visas and permits (which
was a huge plus not to have to worry about.) Lodging and food were not
included. That was not too bad as rooms were pretty affordable, and food was
just a little more costly than in countries to the south.
Now,
finally, on to the ride. The first
day in Tibet was both tough and beautiful. Though there were some annoying
delays. The tour company had booked me into sort of an extreme-sports resort
just south of the Tibetan border in Nepal for the first night. It was quite
nice, with comfortable and quiet tent/rooms located across Sun Kori River from the highway. However, their main focus was morning bungy jumping from the wobbly footbridge across the river.
I asked if I could have my breakfast a little early so I could start my ride
before the bridge was closed for the loony jumpers, however, they served
everyone there early and so the jumping started early as well. Consequently, I
had to wait for almost an hour while other guests flung themselves into the
gorge before I could start. Once finally
underway, the climb up into the Himalaya started strait off, and the paved road
ended, becoming rather rocky gravel, foreshadowing things to come. After about
15 km, I reached the Nepali border town of Kodari,
which is fairly small and frumpy. Passing through Nepali immigration was pretty
quick, but the Chinese side, which is partly located just over a bridge called
the “Friendship Bridge,” was a bit more complicated. First there was a
quarantine station, where I had my temperature taken for the first time ever at
a border crossing. Normal, thankfully. Then there was
the border guard who wanted to see my special travel permit, as well as my visa
and passport. Unfortunately, the guide, who was waiting for me around the
corner just past the gate, had the permit, and the guard wouldn’t let me walk
across to find him. Fortunately the guide had a phone and after waiting
pointlessly for a while I had the guard call him. He came right down, a nice
Tibetan man named Migmar, and before long we were
moving through. Not quite in Tibet, just yet however, as there is an unusual 7
km “no mans land” between that first checkpoint and the real immigration
station further up the hill. That section is steep, narrow, and often horribly
rocky, and since it is not really in Nepal nor in China, neither
country is likely to improve it any time soon. Additionally, travel in Nepal is on the left
of the road while in Tibet it is on the right. So, which side in the no mans
land? A little confusing. I was quite energized about
finally reaching Tibet, however, so I made it up fairly quickly and reached the
very Chinese border town of Zhang Mu. It was a
surprisingly large town that slides up the mountain along numerous switchbacks
of the highway, and there was yet another immigration station to go through.
Finally all the formalities were done, and we could move on to a nice lunch.
According to the plan worked out by the company, I was to spend the night in
Zhang Mu. However, even though the day already
climbed about 1,000 meters, the distance so far was only 26 km. That seemed way
too short to me, and so I chose to gain a day, and ride the next day’s fairly
short ride in the afternoon. That was only another 35 km to the town of Nyalam. However, there was another 1,600 meters of gain
ahead, so it would not really be easy. The road was tolerable, though rocky or
wet in places but the scenery was really beautiful, with rugged, now
snow-capped, peaks all around and countless waterfalls spilling into the river,
now called the Pa Chu. However, as I approached Nyalam, evening was fast approaching, and the temperature
was dropping fast, as the typical afternoon clouds were rolling in. Of course,
something else got in the way. About four km from town, there was a place where
a avalanche had previously covered the road. A narrow,
vertically-sided passage perhaps 15 meters deep, had previously been cut
through. However, a goofy truck driver, with an overstuffed, tarp-covered load,
which was just a little to fat for the passage, had gotten his truck stuck in
the channel, and there was no way to walk around. We had to unload my bike and
pass it, and all my gear, over the top of the truck before I could go on.
Finally, just after dark, and freezing cold, I reached
Nyalam, after a total of 2,600 meters of climbing,
the most I’ve ever done in one day, and probably the most I ever will. I found
a newish Chinese hotel in which to stay, which was
unique in that it had electric blankets on the beds, a luxury in the typically
unheated rooms which I would certainly miss in upcoming days.
The next day was a planned
rest day in Nyalam to acclimatize to the altitude.
There wasn’t too much to do there, but there was internet available, which was
nice. The town is mostly a new Chinese town as well, but there is an older
Tibetan neighborhood which was fun to walk through. It was my first chance to see the distinct
Tibetan-style culture and it was very interesting. What entertained me the most
were the Yaks, the big shaggy Himalayan cattle, which had the run of the town, and
frequently parked themselves right in the front doorway of someone’s home. The rest there was probably a very good thing as there
was still much more climbing ahead.
Specifically, the next day
entailed the first crossing of one of the big Himalayan passes. It was about 80
km from Nyalam to the summit of Thong La, which
topped out at a thin 5,100 meters. Though the distance was not very great, the
rocky road, which became progressively more wet up the
mountain, made for very slow progress. However, the scenery continued to be
very impressive which made for a pleasant distraction. Now above the treeline, the surrounding peaks were tall, sharp, and
white. What was even more impressive was the backdrop of the bluest sky I have
ever seen. The thin air above 4,500 m really creates a deep Azure hue that is a
distinct counterpoint to the white of the snowy mountains. At midday, we
stopped for a quick meal at a small roadside restaurant, which was basically
part of someone’s house. Food in Tibet has always been a bit of an issue. Real
Tibetan food is becoming increasingly uncommon, as it is one of the world’s
thinnest cuisines. That’s not due to a lack of taste, or cooking talent, but
rather due to a dearth of ingredients. At 4,000 meters, about the only
foodstuffs that the Tibetans have had available over the years were yak butter,
barley and buckwheat, a few meager vegetables, and the occasional bit of yak
meat, beef, or pork. From that, the most common dishes are dumplings, bread and
tsampa, a barley flour-yak butter tea mixture. These days restaurants in the larger towns, and especially the
touristy ones, have access to more items, and normally serve Chinese, Indian,
or Nepali dishes in addition to Tibetan fare. In this case, the cook, served the only item on the day’s menu, a bowl of
noodles with some meat and vegetables. It did taste really good, and as hungry
as I was, and with as much climbing as I had left, I asked for a second bowl.
There were also small roadside shops, and slightly larger stores in the major
towns. However, I found their selection
of items to be a little weak. Soft drinks could usually be found, but the only
real food available was often just the omnipresent instant noodles bowls,
candy, and rather poor quality biscuits from China. The only western products
that could be found with any regularity were Coke/Sprite/Pepsi, Pringles potato
chips (um....Why?), and, if one was lucky, Dove Chocolates. The rest of the
climb continued to go slowly and as the clouds rolled in, and darkness
approached, it got really cold once again. Luckily, during the day off in Nyalam, I bought a heavy winter coat, which came in quite
handy on that day, and several others.
Eventually, I reached the
summit, after a seemingly endless climb, which included many, many rest stops.
It was a good feeling to reach the top, but with darkness coming quickly, the
temperature lingering at a balmy 2C, and my fingers freezing, I could not
linger long. In fact, with a small saddle to a secondary pass yet to go over,
and a rough roads on the downside, I had to skip the
last bit of the descent. In near darkness we arrived at our stop for the night,
a tiny town called Minbu, where we stayed in a
traditional guest house. The main thing I learned that night was that few
Tibetan lodgings, or any buildings for that matter, have any sort of heating
system at all. On a night when the temperature would fall below freezing that
was a significant discovery. The room just contained a few cots, each with a
stack of several heavy blankets and pads. In a moment, the host came by to
deliver a big thermos bottle filled with hot water. There are two modern items
that are indispensable in Tibetan dwellings, the big thermos bottle, and an
electric blender, used for making yak butter tea. The particular use of the hot
water is at the guest's discretion. The Tibetans often drink it plain, or use
it for jasmine tea, washing is also a possibility, but filling up an instant
noodle bowl was my preferred use. The only warm place in the area was the
restaurant/host’s home, which has a large dung-fired stove in the center of the
room. After sitting by that for a while, eating some rice with yak meat, and
drinking a glass or two of tea, which is always instantly topped off even after
one tiny sip has been taken, I was a little warmer. Moving back to my room,
after visiting the most primitive of rest room facilities, negated that
circumstance, however. After a while, with all my clothes on, and under a pile
of three or four heavy blankets, I warmed up enough to get a little sleep.
The next two days initially
appeared to be rather light, easy days, but that was a bit of an illusion.
Traveling through broad, flat valleys with a planned distance of only ~60 km
each day should have meant a pair of short half-days. Unfortunately, the
highway, still gravel and dirt, became increasingly corrugated or soft in
places, so travel was annoyingly slow.
Even the fierce tailwind that rose up at midday each day didn’t help as
the rough road negated is advantage. The highlight of the first day was a
sighting of Qomolongma, the world’s tallest mountain
(though you probably know it by another name.) Even though it was a
considerable distance to the south when it became visible, and the sky was not
as clear as it could have been, it was quite an impressive sight. It was
amazing to think that at over 8,800 meters, the summit was a full 3,700 meters
higher than the big pass I crossed the previous day. Must be
some very thin air up there. The
day ended at Tingri a tiny settlement that was not
much more than a collection of several buildings lining the highway.
Accommodation was at another chilly guesthouse, and since the wind outside was
blowing so wildly as to knock over tables that were sitting outside and whip up
enough dust and sand to practically blot out the sun, there wasn’t much to do
but try and get some rest.
That wasn’t easy, however,
as I began to notice some mild symptoms of Altitude Sickness. There wasn’t much
of a problem for me during the day, even when riding, but at night I had a
terrible time sleeping. That is one of the common effects of the sickness and,
of course, a lack of sleep has corresponding negative effects on the following
day. It took about three or four days of continued acclimatization for the
symptoms to fully subside.
The next day was similar,
covering only 62 km over a still badly corrugated road, with a big afternoon
wind, and a chilly night in a guesthouse, this time in the similarly small town
of Shegar. Once again I took things fairly slowly,
since there was no point in rushing, and reached the town in the early
afternoon. The interesting sights that day were some relatively rare
Black-Necked Cranes, which migrate to Tibet for the summers, a group of three
pilgrims walking to the sacred Mount Kailash, several
hundred kilometers to the west, and numerous small Tibetan villages containing
traditional-style homes. Pointlessly chatting with the pilgrims when we
couldn’t really understand each other was still fun, as they were three very
unique fellows, dressed in their finest traditional clothing.
They asked for pictures of the Dalai Lama, and I was angry at myself for not
brining any. Such pictures are prized possessions for most Tibetans, though
they are prohibited by the Chinese. Tibetans who possess them can get into
“trouble” and if the Chinese happen to inspect one’s bags and find such images,
tourists can get into “trouble” as well.
I was advised more than once not to give any pictures to Tibetans or
even to bring any with me, so that no one would get into trouble. Of course, no
officials ever looked at any of my belongings, and I could have easily given
some pictures to those men, if I had bothered to bring any, which would have
made them very happy.
The homes that make up most
Tibetan towns are quite unique. Made of stone that is covered with a white adobe stucco, most are shaped like a shoebox. Small windows, surrounded by a black,
trapezoidal-shaped frame, lie below red and black painted stripes that circle
the tops of the walls (in days gone by only the homes of high lamas were
supposed to have large windows.) On the flat roof, neat orderly stacks of
firewood or dung patties covered the building, saved for later use, and at each
corner, a little tower stood erect, topped with a cluster of colorful prayer
flags. It all makes up a unique appearance that seems a little medieval.
Up next was the highest
mountain pass of the route, and of the entire tour, namely Gyatso
La, which reaches a lofty 5,220 meters. The climb, which rose just under 1,000
meters, started rather slowly but the road progressively deteriorated as the
altitude increased. Moreover, as the day went on, I really began to feel the
effects of the previous day's efforts.
The last few kilometers, with the chorten at
the summit in sight, were painfully slow and seemed to take forever. Finally at
the top, it was late in the day, once again, and consequently cold. After tying
a flag to the chorten, I started downhill, but after
only a short while, the bad road got even worse, and dead tired, with darkness
near, I skipped the descent and rode with the guides to Latzse,
the stop for the night.
At Latzse,
I took advantage of the day I gained by riding to Nyalam
on the first day, and took a much-needed extra rest day in that town. Latzse is a new Chinese town with no major sights and
little else to do, however there were a few decent restaurants, and in any
case, all I wanted to do was rest. While in town, I made a personally
unpleasant change to the tour plan. Given that the return trip would largely
travel the same route, over the same terrible road, but this time dead on into
a monster headwind, it seemed like it would be better to skip over the worst
section, and use the saved time to take little more rest time on the way up to Lhasa. It went against all of my principles to make that
change, and if there had only been two out of the three factors of rough road,
bad winds, and a repeat route, I would have done the ride. With that change
made, however, there was a little more flexibility in the plan, and more yet to
come as the route got easier.
After Latzse,
the plan was for two days to ride to Shigaste, the
second-largest town in Tibet, which included two minor passes. However, shortly
after leaving town, I learned that the main highway to Shigaste
was recently closed since it was being upgraded from gravel to pavement. Instead, travel was on an alternate route to
the north, through the valley of the Yarlong Tsangpo, a pretty river that flows due east, from its
headwaters near Mount Kailash, several hundred
kilometers to the west, until it makes a 90 degree turn to the south, then
another, to flow due west through northeastern India, where it is known as the Brahmaputra. That is
the same river that I ferried across while in Bangladesh two months earlier.
The benefit from going on the alternate route was that the road was largely
flat, skipping the two minor passes on the main highway, a fact that did not
especially disappoint me. However, the first half, about 85 kilometers to the
Chinese town of Choitongmoin, was somewhat rough, but
unbelievably dusty, and with all the traffic detoured from the main road I
inhaled enough particulates to cause another case of bronchitis, the third I’ve
had in Asia, all due to dusty roads.
Thankfully, the next day was an easy 80-km on a nice, paved road all the
way to Shigaste.
Shigaste, is a
very Chinese, very commercial town, but there is a small Tibetan neighborhood
and market, and the largest monastery in Tibet, the Tashi-Lhunpo,
normally the home of the Panchen Lama. The Panchen Lama is the second highest ranking lama in Tibetan Bhuddism, and right now there is the rather awkward
situation of two Panchen Lamas, each claiming to be
the reincarnation of the previous lama. One was selected according to tradition
by the Dalai Lama and his associates and lives in exile, while the second was
selected by the Chinese and lives in Beijing, leaving the Tashi-Lhunpo
without its lama. It’s a situation that is certain to lead to conflict and
confusion in the future. With a little more extra time in the schedule, I took
a day off for rest in Shigaste and in addition to
touring the monastery, there was enough time get an
exceptionally thorough haircut and shave, and to enjoy the first warm room and
hot shower I’d had in over a week.
Leaving Shigaste
began the most pleasant section of the Tibet tour. A 90
kilometer ride on a paved road, through another broad valley, lead to Gyantse. This was one of the most enjoyable rides in
Tibet so far. The valley is a little more fertile than others in the area, and
the whole route was lined with small settlements and villages, whose residents
were busy preparing their fields for spring planting. Men were out plowing
behind their teams of yaks, which were decorated with red scarves and other
ornaments, in the traditional way. A few of the fields had the earliest shoots
of crops poking up from the soil, the first green I’d seen in quite a while.
Arriving
in Gyantse I had another day off for rest and
sightseeing, which was quite nice.
Gyantse is a beautiful little city, situated in a
bowl-shaped valley, surrounded by snowy peaks. Of the three largest cities in
Tibet, Gyantse is the most Tibetan. The traditional
neighborhood is quite large and the city contains an impressive monastery and
one of the only surviving Dzongs in Tibet, most of the rest having been
destroyed over the last 50 years. The latter, like those in Bhutan, sits atop a
little hill in the center of the city, and is a white stone structure with red
trim. However, unlike those in Bhutan, the Gyantse
Dzong is no longer used, and is now a rather empty museum. A little surprisingly, that means that
visitors have access to the whole structure, and climbing up to the top of the
central tower gives one an amazing panoramic view of the whole basin.
Next was the final stretch
to the capital, and largest city, Lhasa. We had four
days scheduled for the ride, but I suspected that I could do it in two. The
first day was the tougher of the two, mostly due to a return of the gravel road
and another high pass. This time the road surface was at least tolerable, if
not enjoyable, so the initial rolling section to the base of the climb went
fairly quickly. The climb itself, of just under 1,000
meters to Karo La, started fairly gently but became a
little more steep near the summit. In general this was the best conditions of
the three big passes that traveled over gravel roads. The mountain was
asymmetric, descending only 500 meters, which was alright since the road still
didn’t allow a fast descent.
The next day was one of the
most beautiful in the country. From the small town of Naggarste,
where we spent the night, the highway, now a brand-new paved road,
soon ran along the shores of Yamdok Yumtso for a considerable distance. That beautiful lake is
a sacred body of water to the Tibetans, and at 4,100 meters, must be one of the
highest large lakes in the world. It’s
not hard to understand why it is so revered. Following a crooked shoreline
beneath the 6000-7000 meter peaks of the surrounding area the waters are
perfectly clear and colored in the same hue as the turquoise worn as jewelry by
so many Tibetans. After 50 kilometers along the lakeshore, another pass was on
tap. This time it was another asymmetric mountain with only a 500-meter climb,
but a 1,100-meter descent. Happily, for once, the road continued to be in
perfect condition for the entire way. The climb was a little steep, but went
relatively quickly, and for once I was able to reach the summit, Khamba La, early enough in the day that the afternoon
clouds had not yet rolled in, though it was intensely windy. The descent was
probably the only really fun one I’ve done in Asia, thanks to the combination
of a smooth, wide road, very light traffic, and amazing vistas of both the
surrounding mountains and the highway twisting its way down below. From the base,
it was a flat 70 kilometers to Lhasa, and I was more
than ready to arrive.
Lhasa is a fascinating place. With currently some 200,000
residents, many recent immigrants from China, it is by far the largest city in Tibet.
It has, however, drastically changed in the last 15-20 years. Arriving from the
west, the initial areas of the city are rather sprawling and just about as ugly
as most contemporary American towns. Continuing into the center of the city,
the scene is very urban, modern, commercial, and very Chinese, resembling a
sort of miniature Himalayan Shanghai. At least the traffic on the excessively
wide streets is still fairly light, making the town rather easily rideable. However, the remaining Tibetan section of town
and other older structures make Lhasa one of the most
interesting places I’ve visited so far. The Tibetan neighborhood, called the Bharkor, was probably the most interesting. Built like an
oversized version of a traditional village, with narrow cobbled streets twisting through old white stone buildings,
the neighborhood encircles the Jokhang Temple, the
most holy structure in the Tibetan Buddhist world, and a place that most
Tibetans seek to make a pilgrimage to at least once.
Surrounding the temple is a
ring of street vendors selling a mix of both souvenirs for tourists, most of
which are quite nice, and items that Tibetans use in their religious practices,
hand-held prayer wheels, incense, decorative knives, sound bowls, and so on.
Pilgrims and shoppers circumambulate the temple all day long and the area must
be one of the great people-watching places on Earth, with many dressed in their
finest traditional clothes as they zoom around, spinning their prayer wheels as
they go. Inside that is a secondary ring of more fixed prayer wheels, and then
the central temple. Within are a large number of shrines to Buddha and former
kings of Tibet, surrounded by glowing butter lamps and crowded with devoted
worshipers.
The other sites I visited
in town were the Sera Monastery and, of course, the famous Potala
Palace. The monastery was a relatively peaceful alternative to the other
bustling tourist areas, and from its hillside location gave great views of the
rest of the town. The peace and quiet was only interrupted by the monk’s
afternoon debating session. In that event the hundred, or so, monks in
residence gather in a leafy courtyards and spend a couple of hours debating,
which involves groups of three or four sitting on the ground while one other
stands before and make a point of logic on some religious topic or another,
followed by much clapping and stomping.
Then there was the amazing Potala Palace, the most famous building in Tibet. Built
around 350 years ago, the palace was the traditional home of the Dalai Lamas,
and occupies a superlative location at the top of a rocky hill right in the
center of the otherwise mostly flat city. Though the Palace is completely
impressive, it was not as good a visit as it should have been. The Chinese have
removed any traditional use of the 1,000-room structure, and the area open to
tourists has almost a theme-park feel.
Most of the palace is off limits, the monks are not allowed to wear
their traditional robes, and visitors must follow a prescribed route through
the complex. There is little ability to linger as large tour groups, their
guides shouting out commentaries in Chinese or some other language, set the
pace for movement through the palace. Nevertheless, it is a very amazing place,
and getting lost inside would be an experience that I would really enjoy.
After four days in Lhasa, which was a nice break, it was time to turn around
and head back to Kathmandu. The route back was
identical to that coming up, except that we would bypass Gyantse
and the two passes, and take the short-cut route straight to Shigaste. That route was back on the main highway and was
all on paved roads through flat valleys. The original plan was for three days
to do the 280-kms, but I did it in two, as there were no decent places to stay
on the latter part of the route. That was fine except for the wind, which was
now a headwind but, thankfully, much weaker than it had been previously.
After Shigaste,
it was time to skip over the section of bad road and ride with my guides. I
still felt bad about doing that, but while going over Gyatso
La the road looked even rockier than I had remembered, and on the other side
the wind was howling again. That evening we arrived back at Minbu,
and the plan was for me to ride back over the last pass, Thong La, and then on
to the border and beyond to Kathmandu. Nature had
other plans, however.
The next morning, I awoke
just after sunrise and briefly went outside where there were a few snow
flurries falling. No big deal, I thought, and went back to bed for a little while.
An hour later, once everyone in the place was up, I looked out again, and
things had changed quite a bit. The ground was now covered and the snow was
still falling, now heavily. We heard that it was worse to the south across the
pass. That meant I had to skip yet another pass, and this time I was rather
upset about that. With nothing to do in Minbu, we
decided to go ahead, following a couple other vehicles of tourists and locals.
Up to the pass was fairly decent, but as we were warned the other side was a
different story. With an accumulation of 30-60 cm it was slow going. Eventually
we encountered a line of about 8 large trucks which were waiting behind the one
at the front, which was stuck. A number of other passenger vehicles soon began
stacking up behind the jam as well. The Tibetans hatched a seemingly
overly-hard scheme to dig around each truck, one by one, to eventually
leap-frog the passenger vehicles around the clot. I felt that the fastest way
was to dig out the one truck that was stuck up at the front. So I went up to
help do that, and the driver’s assistant and I spent maybe two hours digging
out the big truck. After a while the truck was practically completely free.
However, I was subsequently shocked when the driver refused to try and go forward,
fearing his truck would topple over to one side. Ok, if the stupid idiot was
worried about that why didn’t he say so before I wasted all that time digging?
In the meantime, the Tibetans had made it to the front of the line, and while
in the process of digging a path around the first truck we largely buried it in
snow again. Served him right. I learned later on that
a second group of locals and a few tourists dug him out again, and he still
refused to try and move, waiting for the snowplow driver to drive him out
instead. Stupid idiot.
Now very late, we
eventually arrived in Nyalam again, but no one in the
now large convoy was allowed to go past the town, as the road crew was still
trying to clear the road. So I spent another night at the Chinese hotel with
the electric blankets. At that point, I was still a day ahead of schedule,
thanks to riding through to Shigaste, and I was
hoping to stay ahead. The next day numerous other tourists had arrived in town, and no one had any real information about when the
road would open. In the late morning, someone told everyone to get ready to go,
and so everyone packed up and waited for the word, and waited, and waited.
Eventually one of the plows returned and we were told that the road would not
open that day after all. The result of that false alarm was that I lost my warm
room and had to move to another, colder one, only warmed by another big thermos
bottle.
The next morning there was
still no reliable news on the road conditions and many of the tourists, some of
whom were now missing flights back home, were getting a little anxious. Some of
the more adventurous, or perhaps foolhardy, decided to walk out. On the theory
that by that time there would only be a small blockage left, and not wanting to
spend more time in Nyalam than I did in Lhasa, I decided to join them and ride/walk out, after all
it was all downhill from there. After saying goodbye to my guides, the first 8
kilometers, which had been plowed, were fairly easy riding, if a little wet,
and I passed by the walkers who had left before me. Then came
the tough part. Two large avalanches, and three small ones, had covered
the road. The largest appeared to be 20-30 meters deep, and the road crew had
only dug down through 2/3 of the block. Dragging the heavy bike and gear over
those, with the aid of the road crew, was a truly exhausting chore. After that,
I was hoping for another easy ride down, but was disappointed again. There was
a 5 kilometer stretch that had yet to be plowed and if anything that was even
more exhausting. There was a footpath that had been packed down by the locals
who had been walking along the road, but it was not wide enough for both me and
the bike. So the bike rolled along the packed snow, and I walked through the
deep snow alongside, my toes freezing all the way.
Stopping every 50 meters or
so to rest I still took a little time to look around to appreciate how
amazingly beautiful the scene was with pure white, treeless mountains poking up
into the now blue sky. Then, with about 2 km left to go, I was surprised by Migmar, my former guide, who came walking up from behind.
He had heard that the snow was still bad, and, in an amazingly kind gesture,
had walked up to my point, taking an apparent short-cut, to help me out. Much
appreciated by me, that made things go a little faster, and eventually, we
reached clear road again.
So that was basically it
for Tibet. There was just another 1,000 meters of descent on gravel down to Zhang Mu,
through the border, and then a little farther to Barhabise,
Nepal, that evening. It was quite an experience, worth all the money, shortness
of breath, and cold, to satisfy such a long held goal.
Tujheche,
Mike
P.S. In case you haven’t
figured it out by now; Free Tibet!
--
The Tour of
Gondwana
May 02005 -
Oct 02007
http://www.terminalia.org/tour