My journey through India continued in Delhi, where it was really good to be
reunited with Zen, even though we were both exhausted by the journeys that
brought us back together. We recovered while enjoying more good hospitality from
Zen's friend Rita, before getting on a train and heading to Agra and its famed
Taj Mahal.
As usual, the welcoming party at the train station descended upon us, each with
their own hotel that they wanted to take us to. With persistence, we pushed them
all aside and found a rickshaw driver that would take us to where we wanted to
go. Nothing in India comes easy, and even once we were past the touts, we still
had to worry about the rickshaw driver, or even random person on the street, who
might follow us in to claim to our hotel that he brought us there, earning a
commission and jacking the prices for the room up by a few dollars a night. Not
wanting to get ripped off, we had the driver drop us off near a restaurant and
waited for him to leave before making our way to our chosen hotel.
The highlight of Agra is, of course, the Taj Mahal. No matter how much you've
heard about it, or how many times you've seen it, you can't help but be
impressed. From a distance, its elegant lines and well balanced symmetry are
pleasing to the eye, and its ponds and carefully manicured gardens add to the
effect. Of course, the guards who are paid to keep people off the lawns simply
supplement their incomes by encouraging tourists to step in the gardens for that
special photo opportunity.
As beautiful as the Taj is from the distance, it is up close that really amazes
me. The white marble that the Taj is built out of is inlaid with semi-precious
stones such as malachite, lapis lazuli, and turquoise, forming elaborate
flowers, vines, leaves, and various geometric designs.
On our first evening in Agra, we were sitting in the newly opened Doors Cafe
enjoying a delicious dinner, when a huge storm blew through. It started with a
few flashes of lightning, but soon turned into a torrential downpour with pea
sized hail stones. As we sat looking out the window, we began to wonder how we
were going to get home as the dirt street out front turned into a small river,
filled with the trash and sewage that was being washed away. However, soon the
rain subsided, the river turned to a small creek, and we were able to walk back
to our hotel and check out the night views of the Taj as the frequent lightning
strobes would illuminate it for brief flashes.
One nice side effect of the rain was that it cleaned out the heavily polluted
Agra air. We took advantage of this as we visited the Agra fort. The crystal
clear views of the Taj down the river were in sharp contrast to the smoggy haze
that almost completely obscured the views on my visit to Agra two years before.
Another diversion while in Agra was a day trip to the ruined city of Fatehpur
Sikri. It is a large palace that was built several centuries ago by one of the
Moghul rulers, only to be deserted and abandoned after being inhabited for a
mere 14 years. While it was interesting to visit the site of an entire city that
was built on a whim, the lack of refinement found in other palaces made it was
clear that they don't get built in a day (or even fourteen years).
Inspired by the inlaid marble that we admired in the Taj Mahal, we finished our
visit in Agra with a return to the marble shop that I had bought from two years
before. The shop keeper's memory impressed Zen and I when not only did he
instantly remember that I worked for a company called Synopsys, but he also
remembered what my tastes were. We browsed through his photo album of his
previous creations, and latched on to a theme designed by some Swiss folks with
semi-precious stones inlaid into black onyx. We made Iftikhar's day as each of
us custom ordered a large quantity of marble.
A night train brought us to Varnassi where we arrived at about five in the
morning. Arriving at this hour in the morning makes things even more challenging
as we were feeling quite tired and were not in the mood to play all the games
that the rickshaw touts wanted to play. We eventually negotiated a reasonable
fare with a cycle rickshaw and soon found ourselves at the banks of the Ganges
river. It was an unforgettable first impression as the large red ball of the
rising sun poked its way through the morning mist, and the river dolphins and an
occasional boat were the only things to break the calmness of the otherwise
still water. The emptiness across the river was in sharp contrast to the aging
buildings, temples, and palaces that climbed up the near banks.
The banks of the Ganges are a world in their own that is quite different from
anything else I have seen in India. People flock to the Gange's holy waters to
bathe and even drink from its heavily polluted waters. Indian holy men known as
Saddhus also flock to the Gange's shores where they either ask for handouts or
just sit there absorbed in a trance like state in their search for spiritual
perfection. At several points along the river there are burning ghats where you
can watch as bodies are thrown into large cremation fires where they immediately
begin to crackle and sizzle as they begin their three hour burning process.
One of my favourite parts was that there were no rickshaws, and the only
motorized disturbances would come from an occasional power boat. Zen and I spent
several days along the shores of the Ganges, soaking in its atmosphere, walking
along the banks, and taking the obligatory sunrise boat trip.
From Varnassi, we headed to the airport to catch our flight to Kathmandu. The
flight went by relatively smoothly with the exception of one typically Indian
incident. The airport had a huge list of things that were not allowed to be
carried on the plane such as explosives, knives, etc. However, when it was my
turn to be questioned by the security guard, he didn't ask if I had any guns or
knives, but instead asked if I had any batteries. Confused, I said yes and
showed him a spare set of AA batteries which he immediately confiscated.
Annoyed, I didn't mention the batteries in my camera, and flashlight. At the
other sides of the security check, an elderly man who had been given the
batteries for disposal came up to me and offered my batteries back for a small
tip.
In Kathmandu, the order of the day was to figure out how to get into Tibet. The
Chinese don't want people in Tibet except on package tours, and while plenty of
stories circulate about how to get around this restriction, it becomes very
difficult to separate the fact from fiction.
We had Chinese visas in our passports (which are impossible to get in Nepal),
and we were told that we should be able to cross into Tibet overland with them
provided that we paid a special $100 Tibet entry fee. We were all set to get on
the 6am bus ride to the border when I bumped into some friends I had made in
Thailand who had just come from Tibet. Their horror stories about landslides and
avalanches and 20km hikes through the snow were well timed, and enough to
convince us that there had to be a better way.
We asked at a travel agency about flying into Lhasa, and soon found ourselves
airborne with clear views of the highest peaks in the world. The sharp and
glacier covered Himalayas gave way to the barren brown of the Tibetan Plateau as
we headed through a small notch in the mountains and flew northwards. The
desolation of the land was astonishing as it was difficult to see even a single
tree.
When we landed in Tibet, we still needed to get through immigration, and we were
warned that the authorities were not going to be very pleased with our Chinese
visas. After checking out our passports, the immigration officer looked at us
and said that our visas were not valid. He called over his superior, who took us
into a little room and said that he could "fix" our visas for a $10
fee each.
Relieved, we filtered into the jeep that had picked us up at the airport as a
part of our "tour" of Tibet. As the two hour drive from the airport
into Lhasa progressed, both Zen and I found ourselves not wanting the trip to
end as we stared out the window with our jaws on the floor.
The first half of the drive was along a glacier fed river with that
characteristic blue green tinge to it. Occasionally, nomads could be seen
floating down the river in their bathtub shaped yak skin boats, or else camping
at the shore of the river using their boat propped up as a lean-to.
On either side of the road were tall mountains, and while they are nowhere near
as dramatic as their Himalayan neighbours, the lack of any vegetation gave them
a look unlike anything I had ever seen before. The taller ones were covered with
a dusting of white snow, and dry river beds were carved into the valleys that
ran down from the peaks.
It is around these valleys where many of the Tibetan villages could be found. As
it was springtime, the farmers were all out tilling the land to get ready for
planting their barley. Some of the labour was done directly by hand with
handfuls of men and women singing songs and swinging their hoes in harmony, as
if part of a Broadway number. More commonly, however, the fields were tilled
using yak, cow, or horse labour.
The villages themselves are quite stunning as their whitewashed walls and multi-coloured
prayer flags stand out so sharply from their dreary brown surroundings.
Unfortunately, this was not a trip where we were allowed to get out and check
things out up close, and instead had to be satisfied watching it all fly by from
our jeep window.
The two hour trip seemed like it lasted only about 15 minutes, and soon we found
ourselves in the outskirts of Lhasa on the much less appealing drive through
cement and tile Chinese buildings.
The first few days in Lhasa were quiet ones as we tried to acclimatize to
Lhasa's lofty 12,000 ft altitude. We did muster enough energy to visit the
Jokhang, the main temple in Lhasa and the focus of pilgrimages for Tibetans from
all across the vast plateau.
It is these pilgrims that makes the first impact upon the visitor. They even add
a bit of life to the otherwise dreary Chinese quarter as it seems wherever you
turned, there was always a shriveled up old man or hunched over elderly lady
walking down the street, spinning their prayer wheels, and chanting their mantra
under their breath ... "Oh mani pad me ohm".
In the Tibetan quarter, the variety of people and outfits were almost
overwhelming, and it was easy to spend hours their just watching life go by. The
heart of the quarter is the Barkhor Square. Located right in front of the
Jokhang Temple, its filled with vendors selling everything from prayer flags,
incense, and statues of Buddha to combs, shampoo, and coca-cola.
The first Tibetans that you are likely to run into as you wander around the
square are the many beggars. Elderly women dressed in tattered rags tug at your
clothing while motioning their hands towards their mouths indicating their
hunger and repeating the phrase "Koochie koochie" which is Tibetan for
please help me. If its not the elderly women, then it is small children that
look like they are straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. Their very physical
approach of grabbing and hugging you while asking for money definitely left you
checking the contents of your pockets afterwards.
Looking beyond the beggars, you see the many Tibetans either browsing the
markets or chanting and spinning their prayer wheels on their clockwise circuits
around the Jokhang. There are shrunken nomads in their tattered clothing, large
and noble "Kampa" men with broad shoulders and red or black tassels
braided into their hair, and women with turquoise and red coral rocks decorating
their waist length hair.
The main entrance to the Jokhang is almost inaccessible as Tibetans fill every
inch of space in front of the temple doors performing their prostrations,
repeatedly throwing themselves down down to the ground in front of the temple
doors to show their respect and dedication. They use cardboard or wooden blocks
to prevent themselves from injuring themselves on the pavement, and I can still
hear the sound of the constant swooshing of these blocks wearing grooves into
the bricks.
Luckily, there is a side entrance that can be used to gain access to the
interior of the temple. Once away from the chaos of the streets, you are free to
wander through the temple complex that is enclosed within, while dodging the
red-robed monks that are busy with their daily chores and the pilgrims circling
the temple and spinning the well greased prayer wheels that are found all around
the loop.
However, the real magic of the Jokhang is not revealed until visiting the inner
temple. As you get swept through the large and ancient carved wooden doors along
with the hoards of Tibetans, you stumble into the dark interior past the fierce
statues of the temple guardians. Inside, once you manage to work your way free
of the sea of Tibetans, you are greeted by a 10m+ angry jewel encrusted image of
Guru Rinpoche - the legendary lotus born Buddha that brought Buddhism into Tibet
13 centuries ago. Next to him is a large statue of the future Buddha, visible
under the flickering of the many yak butter candles which add to the atmosphere
with their orange-yellow light as well as their sharp and pungent aroma which
fills the air.
In the center of the temple, just in front of the large statues, are rows of
seats for the resident monks enclosed by a small fence. In their absence, the
monks outer robes are left on the seats in such a way that it almost looks like
they all just shriveled up and withered away.
After spending some time to soak in the atmosphere, I rejoined the ranks of the
Tibetans in their clockwise journey to each of the chapels in the temple. Upon
entering a chapel, the devotees would chant, dribble a few drops of yak butter
from their candles into the overflowing temple candles, and then finally touch
their heads in front of the images of Buddhas and past high lamas. Their obvious
devotion was contagious, adding to the effect of the powerful images inside the
chapels.
As you made your way around, you had to watch your step as the candles would
inevitably spill a few drops giving the stone floors a real greasy and slick
feel to them. The butter would also get all over the hands of the pilgrims, and
therefore everything that they touched, coating the place in a black grimy
layer.
Part of the magic of the Jokhang was that everything seemed so spontaneous, and
each visit would bring a new set of interesting encounters. Sometimes the monks
would be chanting, while other times would bring fun interactions with the monks
and the pilgrims.
As Zen and I slowly got used to the thin air of Lhasa, we started to get a
little more adventurous. For Zen's birthday, we decided to hire a jeep and do a
trip to Ganden Monastery and a nearby set of cave temples.
The jeep showed up on time, and our early morning rise soon had us riding off
into the rising sun, ready for our next adventure. However, this adventure was
not to be as it soon became apparent that the jeep was not going anywhere. It
had stalled a dozen times and we were still only a few minutes from the hotel.
Despite protests from our driver who swore the jeep would actually make it, we
turned around and headed back. We waited around for a replacement jeep, but as
it got later and later we soon realized that it wasn't meant to be and had to
call it off.
Instead, we hopped on a local mini-bus which would take us to the nearby Drepung
Monestary. There, we followed the pilgrims along the trail that led around the
monastery past rock carvings and prayer wheels, and through its many chapels.
An elderly monk in one of the chapels was particularly enthusiastic in showing
us around. He was nearly deaf and blind, but would act out for us the
significance of all the figures in the chapel with surprising vigor. His head
was completely bald, but he had little wisps of facial hair and an ear to ear
grin that showed off his lone remaining tooth. After having done his duty in
showing us around, he invited us to sit with him and share some salty yak butter
tea. While the tea takes a bit of getting used to, I didn't mind it in small
quantities as long as I was able to drink it hot.
Our visit continued as we hiked up the mountain overlooking Drepung, panting and
wheezing and complaining about the lack of oxygen. We felt a little embarrassed
as we were passed by a speedy monk with a huge bag of flour on his head, and who
zipped by us straight up the mountain towards a monastery 3000 feet above us.
We descended past a gravel pit where monks were quarrying gravel and carrying it
to a courtyard where they were working on a garden. We had some fun joking
around with them and helping them practice their english. Despite the fact that
the monks are living in a serious religious institution, they never seem to lose
their boyish senses of humour. They love playing practical jokes, and are always
looking for a good laugh. While sitting around, one of the monks challenged me
to an arm wrestle, which I quickly won. As he walked away a little disappointed,
his buddies giggled and pointed out to him that I had cheated by sitting up on a
log while he sat directly on the ground. He walked back and made me sit on level
ground for a rematch, and which he won handily.
We later noticed several large cauldrons over a fire in the corner. When we
walked over closer to have a look, we realized that there was a large scale tea
brewing operation going on with a tea bag that was about the size of a large
pillowcase. Several large sacks of sugar were poured in, and the same churn used
for making butter was used to combine the hot water with large quantities of
powdered milk.
To our delight, we found ourselves the guests of 200 monks for tea time. We were
given several disks of unleavened bread to soak in our tea, and then sat in
amazement as the monks chanted grace. Soon afterwards, the hoard of rambunctious
monks were back at their gardening tasks, and we headed back into town on the
monastery bus.
As the possible destinations by public transport are rather limited, we decided
to rent a jeep for 5 days to explore some of the more interesting and hard to
reach parts of central Tibet. A jeep is also the easiest way to get access to
the more rural sights such as the small Tibetan villages that have mostly
managed to escape the influence of the Chinese. Our jeep tour started with a
visit to the Samye monastery.
There is no road access to Samye, and the one hour boat trip across the river
and the 10km shuttle to the monastery leaves you in a very remote location free
from modern intrusions. The monastery is situated at the foot of typical Tibetan
barren snow capped peaks, with rolling sand dunes all around and a small village
that helps support the monks that live there.
We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the village and visiting the
small chapels located within the monastery walls. One of the more touching
encounters happened when we were greeted by a small bald and toothless monk. He
seemed very grateful to have visitors, and had a grin that beamed from ear to
ear as he led us around and explained to us (in Tibetan) what all of the
paintings and sculptures represented. At the end of the tour, he began to talk
about his spiritual leader the Dalai Lama. His grin left his face and tears
began to well up in his eyes as he acted out the fate that would befall him if
the Chinese caught him with a picture of his leader. I had decided against
bringing pictures of the Dalai Lama into Tibet, but at this moment I really
regretted that decision.
After a night at the monestary, we headed back to the river and shuttled across
to our jeep. The day's itinerary brought us to the Yarlung valley and its famed
Yumbulagang chapel. The chapel is a small tower located on the side of a cliff,
and its architecture is unique amongst all the chapels I saw in Tibet. It almost
resembles a lighthouse. During our approach, we drove past four monks who were
slowly climbing their way up to the tower. When we ran into them inside the
building, our guide was able to find out they were from the far east of Tibet,
and had been walking for two months on their pilgrimage to Lhasa, visiting many
monasteries on the way.
At the base of the tower, we had fun walking around a small town and seeing
Tibetan life in action. As was the case everywhere in the Tibetan countryside, I
often felt like the Pied Piper as I walked through the villages and one by one
the small children would file out of their homes and begin to follow behind. Zen
decided to have fun with the children by teaching them silly phrases such as
"Okay boss" and "Lets go, whoo, whoo". They were quick
learners, and may surprise the next group of foreigners that come through.
Our jeep trip continued along the old Friendship highway and one of the more
exciting roads I have ever driven on. As we climbed up to a 16,000+ foot pass,
the narrow one and a half lane road would snake around numerous blind corners
with sheer cliffs by the side of the road. The road would have been scary enough
with a cautious driver, but our driver was engaging in casual conversation with
our guide, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he was fish-tailing around the
blind corners and without honking to warn oncoming traffic that he was in their
lane. We were rewarded for the hair raising trip to the pass with amazing views
of a large scorpion shaped turquoise lake down the other side.
We spent the night in a small and largely unremarkable village near the lake
shore, before continuing our drive through some of the most spectacular
landscapes that I saw while in Tibet. As we climbed up yet another pass, we were
surrounded by rocky snowcapped peaks and large glaciers. However, it was in the
rain shadow on the other side of the pass that we saw the terrain that I will
forever associate with Tibet. Brown rolling hills with a dusting of snow and a
backdrop of larger and more dramatic peaks. The area was almost completely
devoid of vegetation, yet the occasional nomad camps and their yaks somehow
managed to eek out a living.
We drove through Gyangtse and on to Shigatse where we found one of the few
monasteries in Tibet that came close to the liveliness of the Jokhang. There
were many pilgrims who made the trip from the countryside to seek help with some
spiritual matter or to simply improve their karma, and almost every chapel had
elderly monks who were chanting and ready to perform blessing services in
exchange for a small donation.
Back in Lhasa, we entertained ourselves with a few more side trips including
Ganden Monastery with its sky burial site and impressive views from the mountain
top pilgrimage circuit, Yerpa with its ancient meditation caves, and Sera
monastery with its debating school. When I heard about the debating, I
immediately pictured a very structured and scholarly scene with monks calmly
discussing different aspects of Buddhist philosophy. However, what we saw was
200 monks in a chaotic scene of yelling in disbelief at each other, twirling
around, jumping up and down and clapping their hands, and occasionally even
grabbing each other by the scruff of the neck. Even though I had no clue what
they were talking about, it made for an entertaining visit.
The highlight of my visit to Tibet, however, came during the new moon when I
paid a visit to the Jokhang to see if there were any special ceremonies going
on. I joined a group of monks that were making tsampa (roasted barley flour and
water) sculptures, before heading to the main chapel which I found closed. There
was a large monk sitting there who looked at me and asked me to prostrate in
front of the doors (a common practice amongst the pilgrims). I did as he asked,
after which he asked me to come with him upstairs. As I followed him around,
pilgrims fell at his feet asking to be blessed.
Soon, I was led up to a small waiting room where we relaxed and drank some yak
butter tea. I found out that he was a 31 year old lama from Mongolia and that
his name was Telopa Rinpoche. He is a very high lama in the red hat sect of
Tibetan Buddhism, which is a sister sect to the yellow hat sect led by the Dalai
Lama. His English was limited, but as our conversation began to run dry, the
head abbot from the Jokhang entered and we all exchanged greetings by touching
our foreheads together. We were then led back down to the main chapel where it
was opened especially for Telopa Rinpoche and a few of his most devout
followers.
We went straight to the holiest shrine which contains a revered and sacred
golden statue of Buddha encrusted with precious stones. Usually this shrine is
so filled with Tibetans that it is impossible to get a good look at it. A small
ritual was performed for each of us which included having a blessed white scarf
placed around our necks, drinking a few drops of Tibetan brandy, and receiving a
piece of blessed fruit.
After the blessing and some group photos, we headed for the chanting hall where
we were joined by a hoard of elderly monks. The monks chanted while Rinpoche's
students handed out hundred yuan notes ($12 US) to each of the 40 monks. Clearly
these were not your average middle class Chinese.
Rinpoche then took everyone out to dinner at a nice Nepalese restaurant, where
to my surprise he invited me to go on jeep trip the following day to visit
Tserphu Monastery, home of the Karmapa who is the highest lama in the red hat
sect. I gratefully accepted his offer, and then headed back to my room all aglow
with anticipation about what the next day's adventure might bring.
In Tibetan style, the jeep was late picking me up the next morning, and after
being picked up I was simply brought to a nearby coffee shop where I was to wait
another two hours. However, in time we were on the road as the entourage filed
into two jeeps. After an hour of driving, we left the smooth pavement behind and
started up the rutted boulder field that is also known as the road to Tserphu
Monastery.
We broke up the journey as we stopped by a small ramshackle rural school where
Rinpoche dropped off a load of supplies. From the school, it was only a short
drive before we arrived at Tserphu. We were greeted by a group of trumpeters and
the red carpet was rolled out. We were escorted to a small room where we were
fed dinner, while Rinpoche met with the Karmapa one on one.
The dinner consisted of various soups, several yak meat curries, and what looked
like some stir fried green beans. Pleased to finally find some vegetables, I
heaped a large pile of them on my plate. I was given strange looks by the
Tibetans in the room, but I just figured that they didn't understand why I was
going for the vegetables and not the yak meat. However, I was in for a bit of a
surprise when I took my first large mouthful and discovered that they were
really green chilies!
We were shown around some of the shrines by a few of the monks before being led
upstairs for a personal audience with the Karmapa. The Karmapa is still just a
teenager, yet looked very regal sitting on his throne with ornate robes draped
over him and with an embroidered hat covering his shaved head. He didn't seem
completely comfortable with the formalness of the occasion, but would exchange
the occasional comment and laughter with Telopa Rinpoche who was seated on a
throne seated just slightly below the Karmapa's.
We were instructed to go up to the Karmapa one by one to receive a blessing.
Being a tall westerner, I had to crouch down as I approached him as it was
disrespectful for my head to be above his. Upon reaching his throne, I bent my
head down at which point the Karmapa blessed me by placing a white scarf around
my neck. Crouching down again, I retreated backwards not wanting to turn my back
to him which is also considered a sign of disrespect.
Since Eddie, one of Rinpoche's students, had a high priced camera, this was also
considered an opportunity for a photo session. The special robes and hats came
out, and Telopa Rinpoche and the Karmapa posed as Eddie snapped away one roll of
film after another. The Karmapa didn't seem too excited about this, and was soon
scowling and rubbing his eyes from all the high powered strobes from Eddie's
flash.
After our audience with the Karmapa, we were escorted through the main chapel
for a blessing from another monk, and then into another waiting room. As it was
starting to get late, it looked like we might be staying the night (a bit of a
risk for me since the Chinese forbids foreigners from staying at Tserphu without
expensive permits). No one in the group had any clue as to what the plans were,
so I waited patiently to see what would happen next.
Rinpoche appeared and announced that we would be staying the night, yet five
minutes later we were led to the truck and were back on the road to Lhasa. Or so
I thought. When we arrived at the school, we turned off the main road and onto a
small windy little path that headed up the side of a cliff. We drove up and up,
until finally reaching a small monastery. Again, our arrival was greeted with
trumpeters decked out in traditional clothing with tall yellow hats and long red
robes with ornately decorated yellow silk scarves draped over their shoulders.
This time there was no waiting and we were immediately led upstairs for our
audience with the resident lama. While I thought that the Karmapa was awfully
young, I was in for a shock. The lama we were about to have an audience with was
only four years old! He sat cross legged on his little throne at the front of
the room with his shaved head, pudgy baby cheeks, and a long red robe draped
over him. He had a very confused look on his face, and never seemed like he was
happy to be there. However, he knew his routine well and as people would go up
to him to receive their blessing, he knew what to do almost as if by instinct.
His hand would reach out and touch people's heads, and he would lower the
blessed white silk scarves over their bowed heads. The real challenge was in
approaching him. This time, crouching down was not enough to keep my head below
his and I had to crawl on my hands and knees.
As Telopa Rinpoche exchanged gifts with the young lama, I as relieved to see
that the boy was at least sometimes allowed to be a child. The gifts included a
large truck for him to play with. A truck that he showed great restraint in
ignoring all the way until the end of our audience with him.
After our audience, we were again told that we would be spending the night and
were led downstairs for a great buffet dinner. I was beginning to get excited
about spending the night here, and waking up to a sunrise lighting up the snow
capped peaks and the yak herds and grasslands of the valley below. We barely had
time to finish our meal when we were on the move again. This time, it was
downstairs into the main chanting hall where all the monks were assembled. All
of the guests sat by the side and listened to a long chanting session including
trumpets, gongs, and drums. As the session ended, each monk was blessed by
Telopa Rinpoche and we were led back to the truck where we were unfortunately
heading back to Lhasa. This time, I think our plans were altered by the altitude
sickness that Telopa Rinpoche's followers were beginning to feel. Its bad enough
going from sea level to Lhasa at about 12,000 ft, but this monastery was up at
about 15,000 feet.
After saying our short good-byes, we began the drive through the dark back to
Lhasa. Driving in Tibet is scary enough during the day, but was a real white
knuckle adventure by night. The lights on our truck were so dim, it was
difficult to see the road. If our poor visibility wasn't bad enough, oncoming
traffic would always turn on their intense high beams as they approached,
completely blinding us. I'm not sure how the driver managed to stay on the road,
other than by realizing we were off the road when it began to feel less bumpy.
I was relieved when we arrived in Lhasa several hours later, and was quite ready
to head into my bed and crash for the evening. My last few days in Lhasa were
quite relaxing and event free, after which I caught a 6am shuttle bus to the
airport and hopped on a flight to Beijing.
Ron
p.s. I am a little behind on my trip report writing. Beijing, Mongolia, and
Singapore will have to wait until I return to Singapore from my trip to the
Indonesian islands of Irian Jaya and Sulawesi.
