Tibet: The Tradeoff

         The roads leading up to the "Friendship Bridge" between Nepal and Tibet were increasingly bad, and the settlements poorer and more desperate, though the landscape was breathtaking. At the Nepal end of the bridge we took leave of our Nepalese guide and driver, grabbed our bags and walked across the bridge. I snapped quick photo, and was as quickly told that was forbidden ("friendship bridge"?), but it was a military installation, as were all border crossings, and therefore forbidden to photograph. All our papers were in order, and we were soon comfortably ensconced in the luxurious van that was to be our mode of transportation in Tibet, with our non-English speaking driver and ebullient 26-year-old guide, Tashi.
         We stayed in Zhang Mu, the border town, which spread out along the ascending, zig-zagging road. I took a walk up the road and explored some of the breathtaking vistas into the valley. The town was perched on the mountain with a view of its buildings piled on top of each other from below, including from our hotel room. I took a walk up the road just to get a sense of being in Tibet and China, which was cleaner, more organized and less desperate than either Nepal or India. But unlike those two, this was a controlled society, as was to become more and more clear to me. We ate in the restaurant next door, that advertized Wi-Fi, but I couldn't get it to work.

The Friendship Bridge, looking across at the Nepal side of the border.

Construction in Zhang Mu, first Tibetan town.

         By the time we reached Dingri (or Tingri), our destination for the next night, we had ascended several thousand feet up to 12,450 feet (3800 meters), and I was feeling the effects. I was dizzy, weak and suffering from headaches. Barbara could go on and spend the night at the Everest Base Camp, 100 rough km away, but I just had to lie down there in this very modest "motel" with hole toilets, bare bulbs, and an unpaved courtyard, but at least with thick blankets. It was cold. Tashi stayed to look after me. I had no appetite. Still, I ate some dinner and some nominal breakfast the following morning. Barbara returned saying that the Everest Base Camp was a military installation so photography was limited.

My bedroom in this modest "hotel"

The dining room/restaurant

Everest from Dingri, ca. 100 km away.

 The author feeling the effects of altitude sickness, attended by our guide, Tashi

         We visited a fascinating monastary that day,  Palkoschoende, where photography was permitted by paying 10 and 20 yuan fees in various parts. This is where we made our first acquaintance with the huge past, present and future Buddha statues, surrounded by elaborate iconography and decoration. The Buddhists seem to have their universal good will locked into objects: statues, paintings, prayer-wheels, which the devotees pay continual hommage to. They also have manuscripts prominently stored in boxes behind glass containing their sacred writings: commandments from the various Dalai Lamas, and recorded commentaries, presumably on these commandments and on the Hindu sacred texts (!). All is in Sanscrit, kind of like the Buddhist Talmud.

The "protector" deity

         I was barely making it to the day's attraction and glad to be back in bed. We had found some altitude sickness capsules, and I took them, but I don't know how much they helped.
         All along our route we were stopped at check points, about one every hour-and-a-half or so. Sometimes they asked for our passports; sometimes they just wanted to see the slip from the last checkpoint with the time marked on it that we should arrive at this one, to be sure we we're going no faster than 40 km/hour, terribly slow on these rather good roads, but they did prevent accidents. Also, you had to have permission to travel from city to city if you were a local.
         That night we stopped in Chusai, a fairly modern city, certainly as compared to the outpost that was Dingri. It was clear that the Chinese were standardizing the towns of Tibet. The architecture was very similar, very four-square with the elaborate boarderwork that one sees everywhere, and black painted outines to the windows. This is prevalent in the country as well as the city. I was not feeling any better, but I dragged myself to the fairly recently built nunnery the next day, similar in design and decor to the monastary, and with many good-natured middle-aged and older women, their heads almost completely shaven, sitting around in their dark maroon robes, good-naturedly drinking yak butter tea. No restrictions on photography.

         That night we stopped at Shingatse, the last stop before Lhasa. The following day we had two passes to negotiate, the higher one at 5300 meters (17,400 feet). I was no better but made it through. On each of the passes someone sold me a beautiful creature in amber: a butterfly at the first one for 200 yuan, and a scorpion at the second one, which I probaby shouldn't have bought, but amber is light (I reasoned) and she pushed it on me for 100 yuan (could they possibly be real?) Anyway, I have it, though Barbara thought me foolish. We also saw a glacier coming down from a mountain, but not calving into any body of water! And we drove for a long while along Yamzho Yumco Lake, a patch of brilliant turquoise amid the barren browness of treeless mountains, relieved only by the snow sprinkled on their summits.

The productive use of yak dung, one of the many instances of dung constructions we have encountered during this trip.

         We finally arrived in Lhasa on the afternoon of May 9 and checked into the palatial Bramaputra Grand Hotel, which touts itself as "The Unique Museum Hotel in the World," and it really is quite something. First of all, it's huge, monumental in scope, and then everywhere you look are display cases featuring humble but beautiful objects from Tibetan traditional life--labeled, but with no dates. This extends up into the room hallways. In the public areas are traditional statuary, architectural maquettes, and painted mandalas, with the walkway along the bar lined with non-rotating brass painted prayer wheels.

 The front desk

Guest room corridor

I was beginning to get my appetite but not my strength back, so I ate in the restaurant--a fabulous meal for 149 yuan ($24.88), which I couldn't finish.
         The following morning I was almost recovered. Good thing, too, since we were visiting the famous Potala Palace, winter home of the Dalai Lamas, and a 13-story climb--the highest palace in the world. It was begun in the 15th Century and expanded on ever since. It has a white section symbolizing peace, a red section, symbolizing power, and a yellow section, symbolizing the dominate Buddhist sect. Unfortunately, photography was prohibited inside the most fabulous sections of this palace, which seemed singularly nasty.

         So what did I see? Among a throng of pious pilgrims who rimmed us and offered prayers, obeisance, and money in a steady stream, we filed passed huge setups of Buddha statues, past, present, future, protectors (the ugly looking ones), multiples, all serene, all in gold leaf; but what were most impressive were the tombs of the Dalai Lamas. The important ones rated huge tombs, especially the Fifth (1618-1682), who established Buddhism in Tibet. All the tombs were of the same design: golden trapazoids, with successive trapezoidal shelves mounted upon them, leading up to a fan-diadem that increased the tomb's height by a third. Most were 7 meters high and contained the ashes of the deceased, but the Fifth is 12.6 meters high and contains his complete (presumably embalmed) body. It also contains 3721 kg. of gold sheeting and is 7.6 meters at the base.
         There were also seated effigies of the various Dalai Lamas, life-size portrait statues in full regalia, naturally, in gold or gold leaf; the various ugly and angry bug-eyed "protector" gods, that functioned presumably to scare children into obedience; and endless iterations of Buddha in various avatars of benevolence, all illuminated by multiple yak butter candles floating in large metal bowls, plus compact flourescent lights hanging unshaded from the ceiling. The visual experiene is overwhelming, reinforced by the olefactory one. The sounds one hears are mostly explanations by guides. There are lots of piles of paper money, seemingly having accumulated for months or more. There are more pilgrims than tourists; the piety is thick in the air. There's no sense of sin or "shalt not," just positivity, benevolence and veneration. The enemy is not in Man's "sinful" nature, as it is in Christianity, but in Human Suffering, caused by Desire, as the Buddha realized--easy for a prince renunciate to say. Forget class struggle. The other, less visible enemy is the Chinese state, that forbids any image or official mention of the current recognized head of the Tibetan Buddhist establishment, the 14th Dalai Lama, whom they see as an embodiment of Tibetan sovereignty, thus a subversive whom they would fervently like to arrest. This is why his security is so tight wherever he goes, such as the Newark Peace and Education Summit, where I saw and photographed him in May of 2011.
         The views from the terraces were magnificent, since the city is circled in mountains. The walk down was easier than the walk up, since the stairs are all gentle and broad. We were amidst the throngs of pilgrims, many of whom wore face masks, especially the women. We were told that this was more to protect their faces from darkening with sun tan than it was to protect their breathing from pollution. The pollution wasn't heavy here, although with its situation in a geologic basin, this could change if the number of motor vehicles increased subsantially.
          That afternoon we visited the Sara Monastary across town, home to the famous slapping debates, which take place in a courtyard six afternoons a week. The monastary itself exhibited the same forms of beauty we had seen elsewhere, with the same prohibition on photography inside that Potala imposed.

A super-wide angle hip shot inside.

One of the mandalas in the ceiling at the outdoor entrance gate.

          Outside in the courtyard, however, there was no such prohibition, and the international gathering of spectators lined the edges where we were permitted to train our lenses on the good-natured monks who made their points with grand slaps that ended wind-ups worthy of major league pitchers.

         The following day Tashi and our driver took me to the Tibet Museum, a state gesture honoring the local culture and writing its history in an approved way--not an accurate one, Tashi hastened to tell me. Entry was free with no restrictions on photography. The large section devoted to objects from traditional Tibetan culture was rather desultory, with extremely general dates spanning centuries, but there were significant exhibitions on religious painting (rather badly lighted), silk and jade, the latter two very well done.

         That afternoon we gathered up Barbara and visited the commercial district and Jokhang Temple, constructed beginning in 647 C.E., one of the most significant buildings of the city, and one whose roof offers superb views. It had the same heavy Buddhist religious content as all the other monastaries and temples, huge seated statues of various avatars of the Buddha,

 effigies of various Lamas, painted mythological murals, scary protective deities, manuscripts in boxes, all illuminated by a combination of compact flourescents dangling from the ceiling and large bowls of yak butter candles. There was an official prohibition on photography.

           Not from the rooftop, however. From there I could see across town to Potala Palace, the ring of mountains enclosing the city, with its variety of weather, the large square right below, with the devotees prostrating themselves in the plaza immediately in front of the Temple. The roof itself, apart from the flat part the crowd was on, was fabulously gilded. There is certainly sufficient visual confirmation for the pious of the establishment (if not the Truth) of their faith.    

         From here we took a walk through the commercial district. I was fascinated by shops selling yak butter, used both for cooking and tea. We also walked by men prostrating themselves in the street, then accepting money for their piety--what a system (racket?)! We walked through the Muslim district, with its mosque and past a number of Buddhist art shops.

           Tashi wanted to take us to the studio showroom of a handicapped painter of his acquaintance, but I prefered the work in another showroom. There was a Lifecycle painting, very detailed, about 16x20 inches that they were asking 1500 Yuan for. I offered 1000. Barbara said I started too high. The young shop minder called the artist who said the lowest he could go was 1200; I demurred. Later at dinner, though, I reconsidered and sent Tashi back with the money. He returned 45 minutes later with the piece rolled in PVC pipe--perfect for packing, but too heavy. I eventually unwrapped it and combined it with the other piece I had bought (much more cheaply, but not from the artist) in Nepal, much more complactly.
           The following morning we took it easy, packing and repacking. I removed a number of things I wasn't using and gave them to Tashi (energy drinks, liquid soap). He took us to the very contemporary train station (no photos: it was a military installation), and waited with us until we could get on the train. We found our sleeper cabin, and met the young Chinese woman who spoke some English, who had a top bunk. She was on her yearly visit home to Eastern China from her job in Tibet (the colonization). We ate together, and she became our informal tour guide, naming cities and pointing out lakes. Another young man joined us to complete the sleeper, at the next city.
         The train was quite comfortable--with one exception: the bathroom was primitive, the hole in the floor variety, with no paper of any kind. There was a hot water dispenser for drinks, but no hot water for washing. Three wash basins lined up outside the toilet that accommodated a co-ed community of tooth brushers in the morning. No one was embarrassed; the average age was about 35. The dining car provided reasonable if simple meals, and they shooed us out of there when it was time for the staff to eat. There was no club or observation car in evidence.

          Other than this it was a fine trip of 42 hours. The Tibetan scenery was extraordinary that first afternoon: mountain chain after mountain chain, with occasional rivers; no trees. Yaks in abundance,  with some herds of goats, occasional villages, always in the same squared-off style with the same decorative blue trim. I had trouble getting to sleep the first night, but not the second, which probably had more to do with elevation than train movement. Each morning the plastic water bottle I had been using, and which was nearly empty, was squeezed by outside air pressure. This happened three times (!) before we were finally at effective sea level, and my headache was completely gone.

          I was impressed, though, with how empty so much of China is. Its great agricultural regions are clearly elsewhere--and it was not just Tibet that was empty. The next province was as well. There were no oxygen masks dropping down as we passed the highest point (5072 meters, around

Each morning my mostly empty water bottle had been squeezed by the increasing air pressure--to my relief!

8:30 pm the first night). The train wasn't even pressurized, since the bathroom window was often open to mitigate the smell. "Sky Train" was a bit of a romanticization; it was just a cross-country train, not even a bullet train. I doubt we ever went faster than 100 mph.
         We arrived in Beijing on time, 8 am on May 14. Barbara had the name of our hotel, but not its address or phone number. There was no Internet on the train, and none in the station. We found our way to the taxi line ("taxi" is a universal word, fortunately), and then while in the cab my T-Mobile phone functioned sufficiently to give us an address and phone number. We were there by 10 am.