Tibet is a long time travel ambition, ever since I had read The Third Eye, by Tibetan monk, Tuesday Lobsang Rampa, as a twelve year old. (Rampa was later revealed to be a plumber from Devon called Cyril Hoskins.) I was desperate to see the Potala Palace and the home of the Tibetan Buddhists. Tibet has been booked previously and cancelled, due to landslides on the route (I should have taken more note). The border has been closed several times over recent years, by China.
This is my first taste of an ‘adventure tour’. It takes adventurous exploration to the limit of the definition. (In hindsight I’m surprised I ever signed up for ‘off the beaten track’ travel again.)
We start in Kathmandu. The word is hardly less evocative than Tibet. The Road to Kathmandu, the ultimate hippy destination. The capital of Nepal sprawls across the bowl shaped Kathmandu Valley, at a slightly breathy altitude of 1,400 metres. This is one of the oldest continuously inhabited places in the world, founded in the second century. It's the gateway to the fabulous Himalayas, peeping over the rooftops.
And the architecture is a fascinating mix. The home of the Nepalese Royal family, (palaces and mansions) and a centre for Hindu and Buddhist rituals and festivities (temples, stupas and shrines galore). There are three cities in the Kathmandu Valley, all ancient. So, we set out to explore Patan and Bhaktapur, as well as Kathmandu. As far as UNESCO are concerned the seven big tourist highlights are: the Durbar Squares of Hanuman Dhoka (Kathmandu), Patan and Bhaktapur, the Buddhist stupas of Swayambhu and Bauddhanath and the Hindu temples of Pashupati and Changu Narayan. It's dusty and fascinating.
We're staying in backpacker Thamel district. Lines of cheap hotels, little restaurants and shops selling tours. I'm sharing with Jenny, who insists on perusing every item in every shop.
When we're done, a very early sunrise visit to Nagarkot, to watch the sun rise over Mount Everest. (Read more about Kathmandu here)
Now, the trip starts in earnest. A very tough overland journey, along the Sunkosi river to the border with Tibet, over the Friendship Bridge. The driver wears flip flops and the dirt road runs perilously close to the sheer vertiginous drops to the river. We overnight in a home stay. Chickens scrabbling round my feet and the toilet is the river, or a communal stone wall urinal, where the local children gather to watch the white folk go.
We scrabble up a steep and sticky rainforest path, where we are warned leeches lurk, Those clambering down are covered in rain gear, hoods pulled down, to keep them off. The guides flourish lighters - just in case. I've already acquired some kind of intestinal upset and vomit all the way up the slope.
We are met at the top of the slope by a Mitsubishi minibus. This lurches its way over some of the highest bleakest mountain passes and snow covered plateaux in the world, to Lhasa. the capital of Tibet. The scenery is spectacular and barren and there is little sign of anyone, except when we pass through the few villages. These look like deserted Wild West film sets, if you overlook the pyre like heaps, bedecked with prayer flags. not to mention, the odd blue embroidered door covering or yurt like tent. Yaks are wandering. In fact yak is everywhere. (No sign of the Abominable Snowman though.) The stink of yak butter fills the air too much of the time, especially in the monasteries, where it is burned in the lamps.
The road is barely paved and covered in boulders. On occasion, we take to the river bed instead. The rivers cut through the meadowland, shallow, and fast-flowing sheets of melted snow. The bus breaks down frequently. When it does, the drivers disappear underneath, brandishing spanners and more Tibetans appear miraculously and help to get it on its way again. If our bus runs smoothly, the road is blocked by other buses or trucks that have broken down, often tipping ominously to one side.
Tibet is called the "Roof of the World", with good reason. The Tibetan Plateau, the highest region in the world, stands over three miles above sea level. It is surrounded by imposing mountain ranges, which harbour the world's two highest summits, Mount Everest (shared with Nepal) and K2 (in Pakistan). There is still snow on the ground, in high summer, on the highest passes.
Since 1951, the entire plateau has been under the administration of the People's Republic of China, a major portion in the Tibet Autonomous Region, and other portions in the Qinghai and Sichuan provinces. Considerable numbers of Han Chinese and Hui people have been encouraged to settle here, in the traditional homeland of the Tibetan people.
The Tibetan Empire emerged in the seventh century. and at its height extended far beyond the Tibetan Plateau, from Central Asian's Tarim Basin and the Pamirs in the west, to Yunnan and Bengal in the southeast. But it eventually fragmented into different territories with western and central areas being ruled from Lhasa, the capital. Their neighbours, first the Mongols and then the Chinese, exerted greater and lesser control over the centuries, mostly allowing autonomy.
Famously, as I've already mentioned, the dominant religion in Tibet is Tibetan Buddhism, influencing the art, music, and festivals of the region. The Tibetans' spiritual and political leader from 1642, was called the Dalai Lama. The Dalai Lama comes from the Gelug or "Yellow Hat" school of Tibetan Buddhism and is considered to be the successor in a line of leaders, known as tulkus, who are incarnations of Avalokiteśvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion. That's just the formal heritage. The informal line is said to be traced right back to a brahmin boy, alive at the time of Buddha. The Dalai Lamas have had to escape the country on more than one occasion (once because of a British invasion - part of The Great Game), before the Chinese took over completely. The current Dalai Lama lives as a refugee, in India.
Our initial overnight is at Tingri. It's a town of just over 500 people, often used as a transition point to an Everest Basecamp. From here, if the weather is clear enough, you can see Mount Everest in the distance. I'm persuaded I can make it out, a speck in the distance. On a very good day, I'm told, you can see another three of the six highest peaks in the world: Mount Lhotse, Mount Makalu, and Cho Oyu.
The hotel is basic to say the least. The bath is spattered with red paint. It looks as if Jack the Ripper has been practising in there
On the road to Shigatse, Sakya (Pale Earth) Monastery was founded in 1073. For a time, it was the seat of power in Tibet, during the Mongol overlordship. It started life as a cave, evolving into complex buildings and a library. These have been destroyed and renovated several times. There's a huge main hall, but very few monks. Most were forced to leave
Shigatse is the second largest city in Tibet. The Tashi Lhunpo Monastery, founded in 1447 by the first Dalai Lama, is the traditional monastic seat of the Panchen Lama. He is the second most important of the Yellow Hat Buddhists, whose job it is to find the successor to the Dalai Lama. There's some controversy about the current post holder. The eleventh Panchen Lama, Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, six years old, was recognized by the 14th Dalai Lama on 14 May 1995. Three days later, he was kidnapped by the Chinese government and his family was taken into custody. The Chinese government instead named Gyaincain Norbu as the Panchen Lama. Gedhun Choekyi Nyima has never been seen in public again.
Shigatse (at 3900 metres) dipping south and then east to Gyantse. Gyantse was historically Tibet's third largest city (after Lhasa and Shigatse). It's since been eclipsed by numerous others. Gyantse is the ultimate, bleak wild west experience. The restored dzong (or fort) from the late fourteenth century, towers overhead. Gyantse was on the wrong end of the above mentioned British incursion in 1904. Francis Younghusband's force was tasked with settling disputes over the Sikkim-Tibet border. However, Younghusband more than exceeded his instructions from London, and invaded Tibet instead.
The British were well organised and armed and the monks equipped with little more than their charms. Numbers of Tibetan dead vary wildly depend on who is reporting, but there seem to have been no more than five British casualties. The invasion annoyed the Chinese and embarrassed the British who were trying to negotiate trade deals with the Qing rulers. So, Younghusband's Treaty of Lhasa a surrender document, was repudiated. Nevertheless, a British garrison remained at Gyantse fort for the first half of the twentieth century.
The other must see in Gyantse is the magnificent tiered Kumbum ( '100,000 images') in the grounds of the Palcho Monastery. (The moanstery has Britsih bullet holes in the walls.) The largest chörten (stupa) in Tibet was commissioned by a Gyantse prince in 1427. It contains 77 chapels over six floors, and is illustrated with over 10,000 murals (not quite 100,00 but impressive enough), which have survived intact. The Chinese have destroyed most of the paintings in the Tibetan monasteries.
The last leg of our overland journey north and east, from Gyantse to Lhasa. On the way, we drive alongside Yamdrok-tso (4400 metres), the Holy Lake. In the distance, spectacular views of the Holy Mount Nyenchen Khangsar, (7191 metres) the highest mountain near Lhasa, before we pop over the Gampala Pass (4790 metres). The statistics are astonishing. I really am on top of the world.
Lhasa (Place of Gods), the capital of Tibet, is the site of my ultimate goal. The hilltop Potala Palace, dzong (fortress) once the Dalai Lama’s winter home (since the seventh century), dominates the view. It’s immense and does not disappoint. The monasteries are fascinating, with their enigmatic red cloaked monks and the drumming and chanting hypnotically magnetic. The hub of Lhasa is the Jokhang Temple, also from the seventh century. Tibet’s spiritual heart is revered for its golden statue of the young Buddha. Custom dictates that you always do kora (go clockwise round the temple), on the narrow lanes of Barkhor Street. It's rimmed with open air market stalls, huge lumps of yak butter, dentist chairs (drills alongside), sewing machines (get your repairs done here) and beautifully patterned prayer wheels.
The dark haired, tanned Tibetans clad in leather and yak fur, are friendly. The PLA, less so, staring on every corner, guns at the ready, some of them mincing in strange high heeled boots. They make a point of walking round in the opposite direction. In Lhasa we are accommodated in the Holiday Inn. Suffice it to say it is not like any other Holiday Inn I have ever encountered. The new English manager has just arrived. He’s tearing his hair out.
The other main sights of Lhasa are the Dalai Lama's Summer (Norbulingka Palace), and the Sera and Drepung Monasteries. But I'm now too distracted to take lot of notice when we visit these. I was already vomiting when I scrambled over the border. Whatever bug I have acquired has not left me. Everything I eat is going straight through and I’m tired and nauseous, to the point where I can’t join in all the monastery visits. I can’t even lift up my fork to eat. The scent of yak butter permeating the air doesn’t help. Neither does the altitude. Altitude tablets make you even more dehydrated.
Eventually, the group dispatch me to the Chinese hospital in a taxi, with guide Mr Ma to interpret. I’m sent to a toilet to give a sample. It’s an open sluice with huge plate glass windows. I have to deposit it in an open card tub and then follow Mr Ma twice round the hospital holding my collection out in front of me, until we finally reach the correct open window. The doctor, delivers the verdict via my interpreter: I have a bowel problem. They want to put me on a drip. Having inspected the facilities I decline the offer. The little brown packets of pills they dispense are, however, efficacious.
A couple of days later, I’m beginning to feel better, though I sleep most of the return journey on the back seat of the bus.’ Thank you for sending me to hospital,’ I say to the group, touched by their caring attitude.’ ‘Well, actually,’ they reply. ‘You were getting so bad, we were worried you might not make it. We heard that a German tourist died here last week of the same thing. They gave her a traditional sky burial. Laid out on the mountain for the vultures. And all the rest of the tour group were made to watch for insurance purposes. We didn’t want to do that’.
On the return journey, landslides have blocked the already fragile tracks. We have to walk for two days through paddy fields ( huge colourful butterflies) and across swaying suspension bridges. Our guide, Mr Ma, leads the way, holding his parasol umbrella aloft, cheerfully explaining that we have to walk even further than anticipated, as there was another slide last night. 'Lots of villagers dead.'
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