Phil's Fabulous Tibetan Journey: Part 5--Plot Thickening

There was one other slight piece of business our traveler had on his mind. There are several ways to travel to and from Tibet, most commonly people take a train in and leave by airplane. Our traveler planned to do the opposite of this and leave by train, the train ride supposedly quite the trip. But it is the way of things in China that one cannot actually purchase a train ticket more than a week or so in advance, so our traveler had gone to Tibet without plans for escaping from that country—blindly hoping that he could purchase a train ticket in Lhasa.

This would prove much harder than he had imagined. Our traveler asked around Lhasa and found that he could only purchase a train ticket in two locations. One was the official tourism office in the western part of town and the other was the train station about 5 miles out of town on the other side of the river. Our traveler made his first attempt in the evening and so found the first location closed and was forced to go across the river.

At the train station he waited through an stupendously slow line until his term came. Confusion ensues. Our traveler, as fearless as he might have been, was also slightly foolish. He was not actually sure of the date on which he wanted to leave, knowing only that it was the next Sunday. When he tried to convey this idea to the woman behind the counter, she somehow misunderstood him, suggesting the 8^th of May as a date of departure. It turns out that the 8^th is a Tuesday. Our traveler did not have a calendar with him and so didn’t know this. He agrees. Lady behind the counter tells him that while she suggested this date, it was actually some form of rouse and that he couldn’t actually purchase a train ticket for this day.

Still laboring under the misunderstanding that the 8^th was Sunday, our traveler is heartbroken. He had counted on being able to leave on Sunday, but if the fates were against him (the fates being the Chinese government) well then he would do what he would do. He asks for the next possible day of departure. Lady behind the Counter suggests the 9^th which would actually be Wednesday, although our traveler imagines it to be Monday. He reluctantly agrees. With a cry of triumph she reveals that she has tricked him yet again, telling him that he can’t actually purchase this ticket for three more days. (China’s lovely can’t purchase ticket more than a week in advance policy).

Feeling that the woman behind the counter is too much of a comedian, our traveler looks at her with loathing, and departs from the line in failure.

This leaves him in no pretty situation. Train tickets in China generally sell out two or three days in advance. If he does end up traveling out to Everest, he will not be back until the day before he would like to leave, possibly the evening before. This would make it incredibly difficult for him to purchase his ticket, and in all probability he would end up being stranded in Tibet.

Fortunately he has a chance conversation with another person and discovers the evil joke the woman behind the counter had been playing on him. He could actually leave Tibet on the 7^th which was Monday, not the 9^th. This wonderful thing cleared up, he returns to the train station, this time a different window and purchases his ticket for the 7^th. Life is much better now, although the original woman behind the counter might step in at any moment to challenge our traveler to mortal combat.

Phil's Fabulous Tibetan Journey: Part 4--Sightseeing

Our traveler having nothing but vacationing to do while he waits for the travel agent to work a miracle, he goes to see what Lhasa has to offer. Of the most notable aspects of Lhasa’s culture are its bad food and butcher shops. The food, which one would have thought our traveler would love, consists mostly of yak meat, potatoes, and other yak products, yak being available as a part of everything in Tibet. While this diet has potential, like the Irish, Tibetans have as yet failed to understand the existence of spices. But our traveler questions the need for spices, since the way they store their meat probably ensures a healthy dose of foreign matter. Butcher shops generally set all their meat on top of the counter, sometimes these cuts still have hunks of hair on them to prove that it really did come from a yak, and holler at people to buy it. As our traveler was walking by some of these shops, he could not help but get splattered with various pieces of meat and cartilage as the butcher hacked away.

Moving on from Chopping House Row, our traveler comes to the Jokhang, one of the holiest temples in Tibet. After paying the traditionally exorbitant entrance fee, this traveler finds himself in a packed procession of pilgrims making their way clockwise around the Temple. The murmuring and shuffling combine to make an intense throbbing which almost reminds one of a beehive, if one’s head happened to be stuck deep into the middle of one.

The temple is dark, lit only by the soft daylight which filters through the many layers of the building and the light from candles stuck in some sort of goopy substance. Our traveler, eager to know what this substance might be, takes a closer look. His nostrils are assaulted by a deeply rich smell which is unlike nay other candle he has ever smelled. This is because our fearless traveler has never smelled yak-butter candles before. But, being the quick witted fellow that he is, he notices that the pilgrims, at least the especially devout ones, ladle a healthy spoonful of yak butter from their own personal supplies (which they carry with them in large plastic Mayonnaise jars) into every candle-bowl. While burning yak-butter does not smell as foul as our traveler might have imagined it would, its smell is an interesting one. It does not smell like incense, but rather some sort of overly heavy, overly oily perfume, such as you might imagine a heavy-set Russian woman wearing too much of.

In addition to the unsettling effects of the yak-butter odor, our traveler has to deal with prayer wheels. Prayer wheels are metal wheels on wooden sticks which pilgrim’s spin in their hands. For the most part, these wheels are not large, often about the size of their wielder’s forearm, like the one to the left here. However there are occasionally those super-pilgrims who wish to excel in their devotion and so wield huge prayer wheels much to the chagrin of the nearby populace. These wheels become nothing less than weapons which often leave large dents in the temple walls and decommission otherwise devout Buddhists.

Upon emerging from the musky confines of the Jokhang, the Traveler finds himself caught up again in another clockwise shuffle, but this time around the outside of the temple. This shuffle has a wider berth and so there are fewer causalities from the prayer wheels, but there are also new obstacles, the greatest of which is the “diving pilgrim.” There are a set of pilgrims, who rather than demonstrate their devotion through size of prayer wheel or gifts of yak butter, choose to prostrate themselves at every step as they shuffle around the temple. For this purpose they wear a thick canvas apron over their robes so as not to tear them to shreds, and wooden sandals on their hands. Those diving pilgrims who are not as serious as the rest, dive in long fluid motions which allow them to almost slide along the ground so as to get the most out of every slide, distance that is. But those who have begun to really attain the true devotion disdain this practice as cheating. They gravely prostrate themselves with each step, rising to straight back up to take another step and repeat the process.

Finishing this clockwise circuit (a kora in the vernacular), our traveler heads to the most visible sight of Lhasa—the fortress high on a rocky hill in the center of town. Known as the Potala, this massive structure with a thousand rooms used to be the palace of the Dalai Lama, at least until the Chinese government decided that it would serve better as a tourist attraction. Thankfully the Cultural Revolution never got its destructive little hands on this one. On the outside the Potala is one of the most beautiful buildings our traveler has ever seen. It’s white lines sloping upwards towards a deep red—the shape and color of the building are amazing. Unfortunately the inside is nowhere near as attractive.

The tombs of the various Dali Lama’s housed within the Potala are one of the few attractions and are surely some of the most majestic the traveler has ever seen. Often rising to more than 25 feet, and having 1000s of kilograms of gold, tens of thousands of precious gems, and even some pearls which supposedly came from elephants brains (a fact our traveler later determined to be unreliable), these tombs are some of the most amazing works of luxury our traveler has ever seen. And perhaps that would be the way the traveler would describe the Potala itself to you: one giant, magnificent and splendid tomb.

Phil's Fabulous Tibetan Journey: Part 3 --Bureaucracy

Arriving in Lhasa was not as spectacular as our traveler felt it should have been. But I have the feeling such places, already so famous, can never fully live up to the wild expectations visitors have. But Lhasa is a beautiful city all the same. Set in a river valley between large brown ridges which are still snowcapped this early in May, Lhasa makes the traveler realize that he is no longer in China. And whatever you would like to say politically about Tibet, it is no more Chinese than Nepal. As you walk around the streets of Lhasa, Tibet’s most heavily Chinese dominated city, all the street signs are still written in both Chinese and Tibetan. But what really makes you realize you are not in China anymore is the fact that Chinese is no longer the language of choice. Most Tibetans speak better English than they do Chinese, and not very many Tibetans speak English—if you get the picture.

But our traveler does not have the time to remark upon any of the intricacies of the cultural-political situation in Tibet for long, his first priority is to try and arrange some sort of transportation out to Everest. Although he does not plan on leaving for a few days yet, the word on the street is that arranging transportation can sometimes take longer than expected and a little preplanning pays off. Perhaps, though, the term “arranging transportation” should be clarified. Mt. Everest is a long haul from Lhasa and the roads are not all paved. Public transportation is not exactly available. Generally, travelers hire a land cruiser and driver (often with a guide tag-along) to drive to the mountain. The first order of the day then, is to pick one of the travel agencies which litter the streets of Lhasa.

Our traveler’s first attempt is somewhat of a failure. The people in this first travel agency speak a little English and a little Chinese and a lot of Tibetan, so not much of what is desired gets through. For some mysterious reason these first travel agents cannot help our traveler. While this is an ominous start to his as yet completely abstract plans for a visit to Mount Everest, he is an optimist and keeps on going. There are other travel agencies.

Unfortunately the situation is far worse than our traveler ever could have imagined. At the second travel agency, more English is spoken and the true horror of the situation emerges: a week before our traveler arrived in Tibet, certain other Americans had decided it would be a smart move to protest the Chinese involvement in Tibet. These fools chose for their location none other than Mount Everest. Before this, all the traveler had imagined he must do was pay some fees for the appropriate permits and passes and he would be allowed out to base camp. However, a new travel agent now tells our traveler that the Chinese government has shut down most of Tibet and is no longer allowing Americans out to base camp. The travel agent lamely suggests that our traveler go in person to the local police station and ask for a permit; until he has one of these, the travel agent says, nothing can be done.

This was the first horrible development in a serious of even more horrible developments which would eventually drive our traveler close to despair. While Tibet is all well and good, it was our traveler’s opinion that Tibet without Mount Everest was very much like apple pie without apples.

Being evening already and the police station closed, it is in a very sad state that our traveler leaves the travel agent’s office with the lame hope that tomorrow morning he can go to the local police and beg for a permit in person. Still trying to be optimistic, our traveler does not have much hope for this course of action.

Morning comes very slowly, our traveler being too worried about not being able to go to Mount Everest to enjoy what small night life there is in Lhasa. At the police station, a nice enough woman explains to our traveler that they cannot actually give out permits of any sort to a foreigner. If the foreigner would like a permit, the policewoman says, he must go to a travel agent. After twenty minutes or so of explaining that it was a travel agent who sent him here, our traveler leaves to go to yet another travel agency. This time he gets a little farther, the travel agents actually saying that they could arrange the trip, only they would need our traveler’s Tibet permit. This was the little piece of paper which Mr. Chen had originally acquired for our traveler. Unfortunately Mr. Chen was of the opinion that this paper was not at all important and never gave it to our traveler, assuring him that it would never be needed.

At the insistence of this new travel agent, our traveler calls Mr. Chen to see if his permit can somehow be faxed to Lhasa. Mr. Chen chastises our traveler for going to a travel agent in the first place and says he should merely go and talk with the Tibetan drivers—apparently this method does not require a permit. At this point Mr. Chen’s status as glorious travel agent has shrunken no small amount—more and more our traveler remembers him as a slimy little greasy haired bird who should have his yak head fall on him. But persistence is the name of the game when dealing with the Chinese bureaucracy, so our traveler tries again.

I realize all this is quite dry and confusing, so perhaps a clarification is in order: In Kunming, our fearless traveler approaches travel agent A to obtain tickets to Lhasa and permit. In Lhasa, fearless traveler approaches travel agent B to arrange transportation to Mount Everest; Travel Agent B refers traveler to Travel Agent C; Travel Agent C refers traveler to police; police refer traveler to Travel Agent D; Travel Agent D confers with travel Agent A, eventually deciding that Travel Agent E must be brought into the picture. Travel Agent E is our fearless traveler’s last hope.

This time he finds a travel agency where English is spoken in great profusion. The travel agent after hearing what they want to do, ponders our traveler in grave silence for a moment before saying that in his opinion the traveler should give up completely any hopes of going to Mount Everest. Since the American protesters, things have degenerated to such a state that there really is no hope for legally going out to base camp. But our traveler pleads with this man for quite some time and eventually leaves with the agreement that the travel agent will take his passport and student ID (for added veracity) to the police station next morning and see if they will give him a permit.

Leaving this last office in complete dejection, our traveler decides to see the sights of Lhasa while he waits for his verdict from the invisible forces of Chinese bureaucracy. Experiencing for the first time the full force of Chinese stonewalling, our traveler reacts rashly. He has heard that hitchhiking is much safer in Tibet than in America, and that may travelers have had success along these lines. What’s more, hitchhiking requires no permit. It is with a resolved mind that our traveler goes through the sights of Lhasa—if on the morrow this new travel agent fails him, he hitchhikes to Mount Everest.

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.

Phil's Fabulous Tibetan Journey: Part 1--Disclaimer

As promised, I am still alive. I spent the last week and a half in Tibet, land of whatever you would like to call it to make it sound majestic, and have come back with all sorts of stories to regale you with. I had thought about letting all the secrets out of the bag at once, telling you exactly what I saw here and there, what crazy things I did to get past the various barriers the Chinese government sets up to stop people like me from going to Tibet, but have decided to take a more judicious approach which hopefully will also prove to be more dramatic. Please make some allowances for the writing in the following posts. Most of it was done by hand at various points along my trip, and while I only felt the altitude once, it is likely that it impaired my judgment when it comes to what to say and what not to say. But for the sake of veracity, I’m not going to edit this stuff much, instead I’ll let you be offended, annoyed or pleased as you see fit. It is also likely that I’ll see fit to only post up to a certain point every day, that point often being a cliff-hanger of sorts (amazing isn’t it, that my life could actually include things called cliffhangers? Wait a bit though before you get your hopes up).

The one bit of spoiler which I will include here, if only so that this picture may be the first picture on my blog, is that I did actually make it all the way out to Everest Base Camp which was the original goal of this trip.

If you don’t think that’s much of a spoiler, wait until you see all the bloody hassle I had to go through to get there. Recent events (certain American protesters) made this suddenly much harder than it should have been. But that is enough revelation for now. The story is what is wanting.

If the picture to the left is not as clear as it should be, there are two main points which I will detail. The first is the mountain which is in the center there, if you will just look. This happens to be a sort of famous mountain, known mainly for its size and hight, but perhaps you are not familiar with it: Qomolungma is its Tibetan name, although I believe the more popular version is Mt. Everest. The second part of the picture I would like to draw your attention to is myself. Though you may not be able to make it out, there I am, smiling up at the mountain in that goofy manner--can you see me? Just down there on the left corner. Sorry about the darkness, but being in the picture, I could not also be photographer. Hopefully that piques your interest.