The journey continues
In the winter of 1987 I entered Tibet by walking from Kodari in Nepal to Zhangmu in Tibet—a journey of about three miles. As I ran across the steep hill from the town to the road, what looked like boulders tumbled around me. The sounds of the large rocks whizzing by became the soundtrack for my constant nightmares in the weeks that followed (and, as I wrote in part 1, an earthquake largely destroyed the town of Zhangmu in 2015, so those rocks did exist outside my imagination).
We stumbled towards a beat-up and ancient Landrover on the other side and bargained with the Tibetan driver to get us to the main road, where we flagged a bus headed east. The bus to Shigatse was filled with Tibetans of every age, many of whom were smoking (the windows did not open). We stopped several times and got out to breathe the thin air—we also attempted to ignore other passengers peeing on the rocks nearby. There were no trees and certainly no bathrooms—or much of anything else, except snow-covered mountains in the distance and the most brilliant blue skies I had ever seen. The countryside we passed was dramatic and sere; the clear and burning sun would soon turn my hair a bright orange not on the color palette of hair dyes.
Which of the peaks was Everest? There was no way of knowing, no signs or anyone who could speak English. My Tibetan vocabulary (“You are very pretty.” “Hello. How are you?” “Thank you.” “What is your name?”) did not include “Which peak is Everest?”
Sakya in Tibet, Sakya in lower Manhattan
The first Buddhist monastery we visited was Sakya, located about 90 miles from Tibet’s second largest city, Shigatse. The monastery was founded in 1073 by Khon Konchog Gyalpo, the founder of the Sakya school, one of the four major schools of Tibetan Buddhism (the others are Nyingma, Kagyu, and Gelug).
Note: (Just yesterday I attended Medicine Buddha and the Heart Sutra, an event to cultivate peace of mind and health for ourselves and others. Some 30 years after my trip and the rigors of traveling to where the Sakya sect began, I could take a ferry for ten minutes to see the Sakya’s spiritual leader His Holiness Sakya Trizen speaking at a Marriott [file under What a World]).
The second city, Shigatse
Back in 1987, we left the monastery and hopped on the bus to Shigatse. Soon the giant Tashilhunpo monastery (built in 1447 by the first Dalai Lama) loomed, and as we neared we saw a giant thangka (a painting on cotton or silk, usually depicting a Buddhist deity or mandala) covering an entire wall. Tibetan pilgrims circumambulated the monastery, praying. In 1987 Shigatse was a small city, and after visiting there Lhasa seemed overpowering: more people, more buildings, more soldiers….with the ancient Potala towering over the city, looking almost unreal after all the photographs I had seen of it back in my childhood.
In the bed of hidden rhyme in Lhasa
Most of the tourists to Tibet headed for Lhasa, and the number of travelers began to grow. In an article in the New York Times on September 25, 1990, Nicholas Kristof noted that “a maximum of 1,500 tourists were allowed into Tibet annually until 1985, but then the floodgates opened and a peak of 43,000 tourists came in 1987. After political unrest and various restrictions, the number of visitors declined, to a trough of 3,600 tourists last year.”
Top photo: The giant Tashilhunpo monastery in Shigatse was founded by the first Dalai Lama in 1447.
When we visited, the poshest hotel in Lhasa was a Holiday Inn, built just a few years before we arrived. From what I read and hear now, many such hotels are available to well-heeled tourists.
Following is an online description of the Shangri-la Hotel:
“Shangri-La Hotel, where you can visit the hotel’s oxygen lounge for 24 hours to restore your physical strength. When night falls, the cool breeze gently caresses. You can return to the comfortable guestroom and fall in the bed of hidden rhyme….Of course, it’s a place to take pictures of you and the beautiful twilight for your wallpaper with just a few clicks. “
Rats and rotten teeth
Back in 1987 we wanted to stay at the Yak Hotel, but even that was too expensive for us (the current price is about $35 a night), so we stayed at a nameless guest house—hence, the rats. Other than that, the room was large and the staff was friendly. We would eat at street markets or in basic restaurants. My travel mate would innocently ask for tastes of my food, and, in my heightened and drug-induced state, I began to think she was pinching some. When I returned to the States, I researched halcion, my medication of choice for sleeping in high altitudes. I found that the drug was thought to have contributed to a number of suicides (according to one source, it could “cause paranoid or suicidal ideation and impair memory, judgment, and coordination.”) My physical state was also precarious, since as I traveled through the country I felt both of my recent molar implants begin to ache. When I returned to the States, both implants needed to be removed. That about summed up my mental/dental state in Lhasa.
The specter of destruction
The entire city of Lhasa felt very strange to me—the Chinese troops in Barkhor Square felt menacing, closely watching the Tibetan pilgrims and others walking outside the Jokhang temple, a central gathering place in Lhasa and considered the holiest temple in Tibet. And in fact, about eight months later, in September of 1987, a Tibetan protest resulted in an attack by Chinese troops. Riots began soon after, and six people died. Demonstrators stoned the police and set a police station on fire near the Jokhang, followed by police firing into the crowd. So perhaps my halcion-induced paranoia was not so far off the mark.
The winter palace and Rambo
Even visiting the venerable Potala palace, the winter lodging of the Dalai Lamas, caused a feeling of anxiety in my gut. Yak butter lamps flickered in the dark corners of every room and thangkas of demonic-looking visages glowed in the shadows. The Potala, a World Heritage site, is kind of like what the Acropolis is to Athens. But, unlike the Acroplis, the Potala still contains 700 murals and almost 10,000 scrolls, as well as many other sacred objects and historical documents. And yet, just a few blocks from the Potala was a bar with a mural of Sylvester Stallone on the front—“Rambo” said the sign, perhaps a portent of the cultural changes that would come to Lhasa over the next decades.
While in Lhasa I was always aware of the rumblings of potential violence. I also found it difficult to understand the significance of the rituals or the symbolism of the arts around me, even though I had read and studied before I left. But with all of that, I still felt the light from the smiles of each Tibetan person, young or old. Every person I encountered on our walks or in restaurants or teahouses or hotels was unfailingly kind.
The colors of Gyantse
When we left Lhasa we headed for the city of Gyantse, where we visited the Palcho monastery, built in 1418. This sacred area in Gyantse is dominated by the Kumbum, a temple that takes the form of a kind of three-dimensional mandala. Within the more than 70 small chambers that encircle the structure are many elaborate paintings, a number of which were created by Newari artists from Nepal, as well as by Chinese and Tibetan ones.
I remember thinking about the colors created by the people of Tibet. Other than the bright blue of the sky, much of the country lacks bright color, other than those used by the Tibetans—in prayer flags, thangkas, brightly-colored jewelry and clothes. That’s what made the colors of the paintings in Gyantse so transporting. And every time we visited a temple we were grateful that the contents were not destroyed during the Cultural Revolution (or since). Both the Tibetan faithful and the tourists reap the benefits of their existence.
Exit with dogs
The highs of visiting the Palcho quickly crashed as I realized that we were headed for the same towns—and the same boulders and rocks—that we passed coming in. Thankfully no boulders came crashing towards me as I made for Zhangmu, but I was not quite safe. I did end up walking down the hill towards Nepal alone because my travel mate took the more difficult path with a group of travelers she met. I wandered on the “easy” path, only to stop short when a pack of wild dogs stared me down and began to growl in the tangle of trees I passed. Summoning up courage I never felt while in Tibet, I armed myself with nearby rocks, which I threw with some accuracy. I may also have barked at them. Either I did frighten them or I didn’t appear as tasty as some of the wildlife passing by. In any case, I was OUT.
Not respectable enough
I flew from Kathmandu to Paris to meet my then-boyfriend (and for the past 30 years, husband). I arrived at Orly and was told to go with a stolid looking middle- aged woman to a private room, where I was strip-searched and my luggage was carefully inspected. I remember crying and saying that I was a respectable writer and editor. Then I realized that I was wearing Nepalese garb and had bright orange hair. She said that she was simply trying to keep France safe from violence, and I for one don’t blame her.
Your handy guide to travel in Tibet; too bad I didn’t have this 32 years ago.