2000.04.09 after Western Tibet Autonomous Region, Peoples' Republic of China
Sometime during my week-and-a-little in Lhasa, I got introduced to 4 British guys--Matt, Robin, Charlie, and Dave--who were heading up a
trip to Mt. Kailash in Western Tibet. As it turned out, I ended up spending 18 days with them in a Toyota Land Cruiser over 3800km (2280 miles) of some of the worst roads I've seen on 5 continents. There were more than
a few 200km, 10 hour days seen and only at the beginning and the end was there the luxury of pavement.
The Setup:
Try and imagine the situation first: 1 American, 4 British guys from 18-19 on the gap year between HS and University, a "guide" named "Sher Rap" who speaks some decent English but only guiding English, and a Driver named "" who is pretty rude, a pervert, and speaks little English at all. Take this human cargo, put it into a Land Cruiser with 2, 100 Litre drums of leaking gasoline, a bunch of luggage on the roof and in the back (including a quarter of a semi-dry goat), a propane stove with two tanks, and food for a small army, and you have a recipe for the situation.
The reader who has mathematical skills and some history in Land Cruisers may be wondering, "how do 7 people and all that stuff get into the available seats?" The answer was coined "meat" and it
was not pleasant.
Meat:
When you have 7 people to split among two seats and a very full boot/back area you come to the conclusion that A. the guy who owns the company "Alex Chundak" is a liar, a sadist, and an astute businessman (a near quotation, "One person can sit in the fold-down seat in the back. You can have the guide sit there."), plus B. someone's going to have to sit in the back with the seat that is impossible to fold down due to the petrol drums. Just you, the petrol cans, the sun, and little ventilation. We first called it simply "the boot" but I later christened it simply "meat". It stuck. So, every 3rd day you got the opportunity to sit in the back and basically be a side of beef for the comfort of the other passengers.
Dealing with being meat:
1. Petrol fumes. The driver and guide were always pretty unconcerned with leaking petrol. This was because the air in the front seat (from which they never left, and incidentally, the guide even got a little uppity at the end of the trip by trying to stick one of us in the middle of the front seat next to our perv driver) was significantly better. The air for meat made me nauseous after about an hour. Most meat stints were for a half day, meaning 4-5.5 hours. In the back, I'll remind you, you are positioned behind the read wheels and any bumps are magnified. This equates to being airborne at least once a meat and if you were as unlucky as I in having some of the worst roads on my meat, a lot. Luckily I was only injured once while fully airborne--I landed on my elbow on the rim of a propane gas cylinder.
Basically I learned to put on the walkman, pad myself with everything possible, get as horizontal as possible, and attempt to put myself in a state of mindlessness. No thoughts, no looking around, shallowest
breathing (except a little aromatherapy, maybe once a meat). It sucked. Meat sucked.
There, now that off my chest. Oh maybe one last thing: One day I lost my voice to petrol fumes. Now, finished.
Western Tibet:
All this was for the spectacularly sublime scenery of Northern and Far-Western Tibet. The colors dazzled with their earthiness. The gradients astounded with their slightness. The valleys amazed with their limited range of browns, yellows, and greys. So simple and so grand. Shadows of clouds drifting across smooth hills.
There were no cities, one town of size west of Shigatse, a handful of small towns (up to 100 people), and only uncommon villages of 10 or fewer dwellings. It is a land without people and most of those who are there
are nomadic. Most all of my time was spent just looking at the scenery and every once-in-a-while the people and their herds going past.
It is not an easy life there and that fact can be seen on the sun-darkened and
wrinkled faces of every nomad from 15 to 50. I envied them as much as I pitied the Tibetans on the streets of some town who had lost their noble lines. Maybe this is why the Chinese regulate foreigners' travel to
heavily--stories in the newspaper run together into a stream of world problems while faces of the people leave a strong impression no the observer. Such emotions aren't regulated well and the government is not quite so
foolish to underestimate what those people might do outside. I hope I can be one of them.
I obviously got my fill of the changes wrought by the Chinese. It hurts a little to write about a lot of that stuff and it
makes me angry. Here's a line a wrote on the 28th of March: "Lunch was in the dive-est town we've yet encountered--Tsakachu. Basically only a series of low buildings temporarily populated by truckers and more
permanently by the kind of Chinese who smash bottles to make it more like their former home." I also enjoyed paying $5 (40 yuan) for a hotel with the toilet hole across the street, no internal plumbing, and a
downstairs restaurant that allowed the smoke from an ignorant firestarter to billow up the stairs as opposed to outside.
Corruption:I did find a little enjoyment in the rampant
corruption. For instance, at the ruins of the Gu-ge kingdom the entrance fee was supposed to have been paid in Lhasa--we had the document, permit, and stamps proving it. They said "No. Must have here. Lhasa permit
no good." The price is supposed to be 60 yuan each. He said 280 ($35). Now having driven an entire day through the dustiest badlands we might think of, we weren't about to not see them. I talked with the boys and
the guide and I got him to take $100 for the 5 of us. Robbery, but we then forced the guy to give us receipts which didn't match up. Funny.
Of course, we couldn't take pictures there--against official policy. In most
places they don't want you to take pictures of religious artifacts. In this place they didn't want you to take pictures of the absence of them. The Cultural Revolution dealt a huge blow (or lots and lots of small ones)
to everything but the walls of these places. Not even they all survived. The piles of rubble with half-faces of Bhuddas and bits of scripture waving from them were signs that nothing much had changes since the 60s
except that the dust of destruction had been piled up. There were no Bhuddas--there were spaces where they had been. There were a two guardians at the door of one of the temples, but they were missing arms and had had
their insides ripped out and exposed--nothing more than straw and prayers on paper. Stripped of their skin they were a more powerful symbol than any other I'd seen before or since.
Mt. Kailash:
2-4 April is too early to do the kora. Too much snow and too cold. The locals said it was not possible. One group of westerners the week earlier had turned back at the pass. A group of locals had done the same a few days earlier. We did the kora. Best trek I've ever had.
Towards the end of the trip, I just wanted food other than fried rice and to be in clean air. Clean air was a luxury in most of China but most of all in out land cruiser and where we stayed. Yak-dung fires burn
pretty cleanly, but the smoke of their starting can last a long time in a room shut tightly against the cold.
Coming down out of the Himalaya I had the experience of instant spring. Nyalam was
snowing and cold--reminded me of the French Alps. The next morning we were in Nepal with green leaves and warm afternoons. Winter to spring in a single afternoon.
Finally, As for the yak butter tea--you can't find it
here in Nepal--at least nowhere I've asked for it. It has a kind of rural taste that one probably wouldn't want if one could help one's circumstances enough. You could make a close facsimile by taking black tea and
making it strong, then adding some cow butter to it and churning it up. Finally you would have to swab down the cow's udder and add a little of the essence and drink up. That's yak butter tea.
