Phil's Fabulous Tibetan Journery: Part 2--Mr. Chen

So, where does one begin? The most logical place, as well as most colorful, would be the travel agent. In Kunming, the traveler has several options when it comes to Tibetan travel. I am not actually aware of any of these options save for Mr. Chen. Mr. Chen runs a high-class (single office, highly suspect) travel service. The way it usually works is like this: the traveler comes to see Mr. Chen about obtaining a Tibet permit. This often invisible piece of paper, evidence of the Chinese bureaucracy still at work, is “required” of each and every foreigner who wishes to enter the Tibetan Autonomous Region. Mr. Chen, through whatever shady means at his disposal, shady as the hallway down which his office is located, agrees to acquire one of these for the traveler. His catch is that he also requires the traveler book his flight to Lhasa through him. After a down payment of 500RMB, Mr. Chen works his magic—magic which even goes so far as to drop the traveler off at the airport on the desired morning of departure.

Mr. Chen himself is an interesting fellow. If the traveler first contacts him by phone, he will be greeted by Mr. Chen’s intense, and somewhat metallic voice. If the traveler is foolish enough to question Mr. Chen’s linguistic abilities, he will promptly receive Mr. Chen’s definite, “Of course I speak English!” If the traveler goes on to be foolish enough to believe Mr. Chen and hold a conversation in the English tongue, he will inevitably be met with Mr. Chen’s equally emphatic “I speak English very well!” At this point, the traveler usually realizes that Mr. Chen follows every statement with an exclamation mark and does not understand English.

However, Mr. Chen is still in a way of being able to help our traveler. For while Mr. Chen’s grasp of English may be lacking, his understanding of his business is unparalleled. As far as an advisory would go, I would advise you to avoid using Mr. Chen’s services for this very reason. I have a feeling his understanding of his business is a little bit too good, if you catch me drift. Events work out though, even if the traveler is entirely unable to communicate with the emphatic Mr. Chen, he will leave Mr. Chen’s office with ticket in hand and dreams of a Tibetan adventure.

Mr. Chen at all hours, save those when he is escorting tourists to the airport, can be found in his office. He sits in chair, quietly waiting for new customers, perhaps dozing off occasionally. He may even prop his feet up on his desk, recline his head and begin to snore. This is not to be considered a fault of his for it causes no problems. The hallway which houses his office is long, dark and deserted, and the Yak skull which hangs on the wall behind him does not mind snoring. At least it hasn’t for some time. Mr. Chen reminds you, in his contemplative rest, of a used car salesman, with his wonderfully slicked back black hair, his nervous nature which you can see even while he sleeps. I would have a picture of the famous (infamous?) Mr. Chen, but when we tried to get him to take a picture with us, he threatened in Chinese and broken English to throw us out. Perhaps this touchiness on his part should have tipped us off, it seems he does not like documentation of things. But I would not like to unduly taint your impressions of the man.

This was the source of our traveler’s first ambitions to go to Tibet. As was said, Mr. Chen does not merely arrange the permits and tickets for the traveler, he also offers convenient day of departure door-side pickup. So we find our traveler (myself if you haven’t caught on yet—if you don’t like me referring to myself in the third person like this, try doing it yourself, it is actually really fun), standing in the twilight of early morning on the side of the road near his abode. The traveler is fidgety, fearless adventurer that he is, he still doubts the greatness of Mr. Chen. But doubt not, weary soul, at least not for long. A car pulls up, and out of the driver-side window pokes the glasses sheathed face of Mr. Chen. He says something emphatically, and the traveler assumes this to be an invitation to get in. without further ado, the traveler is whisked away to the comforting sight of the airport.

Under the almost motherly, if a little forceful, auspices of Mr. Chen, the traveler is carried through the check in process, Mr. Chen badgering is way to the front of every line. These trivialities dispensed with, Mr. Chen brings the traveler to the security check. Unfortunately, even the near-god-like Mr. Chen cannot transcend this formality, so like some mother watching her children go off to school, Mr. Chen pensively watches over the traveler as he moves through the security screening. For all the traveler knows, Mr. Chen is still there, watching with nervous eye lest any hitch should disturb this finely tuned process. But a circumstance far more likely is that Mr. Chen has returned to his office and is now peacefully napping, awaiting the arrival of some new traveler bent on Tibetan adventures.