Lhasa

Brown, brown, brown. In the pre-spring it feels like a desert wasteland. The surrounding mountains only serve to block the views. The sky is so blue that it hurts to look at it. The air is so clear that you feel you can see the other side of heaven.

Lhasa sits at 3600 m elevation. Low enough to permit entry to us low-level livers; high enough to make the act of stepping off the curb a major marathon-like effort. You must breathe through your mouth so the dry air immediately swells and cracks the lips. During the day the hot sun reddens the nose. In the frigid evenings the nose reddens again.

Tibetans are a hardy lot. It is a good sign when they stick out their tongue at you (a pink tongue is proof that you are not a green-tongued devil). But the rocks they throw are not so good – partially excusable to the frustration of foreign involvement in their lives.

The Chinese are here. Except for a small quarter of Lhasa, this place is a quintessential, ubiquitous, Chinese city. Where the Tibetans wander the streets aimlessly, or the pilgrimage koras with tenacity, they are dressed in traditional clothing – red felt boots, padded pants for the men and heavy woolen jumpers cinched with striped aprons, sheepskin jackets (one arm in and one arm out) suspended by a red sash complete with dangling knife. All hair is in plaits. On the men the plaits are woven with red or black tassels and then wound around the crown, held down with a weight of bone ring. Women leave the plaits long, down their back, and are able to choose from the rainbow for their tassels. The Han Chinese are haute couture. The bright red/brown cheeks and ground-in dirt of the Tibetans are a striking contrast to the ultra-clean Chinese look incorporating pointy-toed leather shoes, jeans and sweater combination, or slacks and jacket citified look. Except the Chinese wear the dust masks so you can’t see them beyond their eyes.

Yesterday I saw the new train line under construction from Golmud to Lhasa. It looks like the foundation is laid – tunnels lead to pillars lead to concrete supported rail beds. It will only be a few years before the last rail is laid. Almost 1000 km of line, I have heard that about 715 km are tunnels. This is not development it is a strategic invasion. The pillars feel like a marching across the inhospitable terrain.

Food
#Tasty but often too much oil and chili - usually Sichuan in origin. Pork and peanuts and the Tiger-fried green peppers are to die for (in more ways than one!)

#Yak butter stinks so bad that it permeates everything. I shy away from the market place now.

#Momos are tasty… but have had too many.

#Cha is Tibetan sweet milk tea. Now too cloying to enjoy.

Monasteries
Sara – sneaky monk lets us in the back door and we avoid the hefty entrance fee, debating monks… stamping of feet with curling of dust; slapping of hands and pointing of fingers. I wonder that they are arguing?

Dreprung – views over Lhasa as we shuffled behind an old woman. She out walked us as we sucked air trying not to turn purple.

Ganden – Perched high up in the peak of a valley bowl, monks chanting, acclimation test as we climbed up to 4200 m elevation on the high Kora.

Potala – a better view than an investigation. Nice digs for the Dali Lama.

Rong Pu – overnight at 4900 m el. view of Everest, highest monastery in the world. No sleep as needed all concentration to breathe deep enough to find oxygen to stay alive.

Tashilhumpu – Seat of the Panchen Lama (the political opponent of the Dali Lama) walled city feel, little kora around the three stupas, social zone for picnics and chang and chatting. Plethora of ‘Tashi dele’ smiles.

Smiling ‘Tashi dele’
Tashi dele is Tibetan for ‘Hello’. While the younger generation is into satellite television and computer first-person-shooter games, the older folks who walk the koras are often good for a smile. A simple ‘tashi dele’ from me often elicits a smile of mammoth proportions. So huge in fact, that it is impossible not to split your face in a smile in return. There is something so heartwarming in the hugosity of sincerity. I can’t get enough.

Market Hassles
I have cut my teeth in some of the most difficult markets in the world to negotiate a deal…India, Vietnam, and Morocco. My confidence and stamina have dissolved in the face of the Tibetan-style negotiations. The tried and true technique of walking away is a useless ploy in the presence of an arm-lock. I will have to dust off the old Karate techniques if I want to bring home some souvenirs. It is all a bit freaky really, where the stall vendors selling Tibetan kitch are actually Chinese. Bummer.