Jamison’s Misadventures In Asia

I’ve set out from Lhasa to explore Tibet with my travelling companion, Jeremy, a Swiss guy. We’ve bucked the norm and are travelling via bus, as opposed to the ever-popular Landcruiser tour through Tibet. We’ve opted for public transportation in order to save money and give ourselves more flexibility in how and where we spend our time.

Our last night in Lhasa was an international gathering of goodwill. A group consisting of 4 Koreans, 2 Japanese men, a French woman, Jeremy, and myself went out to an excellent Korean meal–my first authentic Korean meal with authentic Koreans. Katzumo, one of the Japanese guys, kept us entertained, recounting his illegal entry into Tibet, which had him pretending to be Chinese and pushing a truck up a mountain.

We had some beer with dinner and afterwards continued drinking at our hotel. As the night wore on, another Japanese guy, Kazu joined us. Kazu is travelling with a small trumpet. Before too long, he brought out his horn and I grabbed my guitar. We had a nice time playing songs and keeping the other hotel guests up past their bedtime. The other two Japanese men, Nagxi and Katzumo, also played guitar, so it got passed around a bit. Katzumo impressed me by playing the first five tracks from Metallica’s ‘Master of Puppets’ and informing me that he idolizes the late Cliff Burton.

Jeremy and I spent the following morning on a bus filled with cigarette smoke and bad Chinese music blaring at us from above. My hangover did not appreciate this environment, nor did it appreciate the bumps in the road coupled with the bus’s shoddy suspension. I spent the first two hours of the trip huddled in misery, until the bumpy ride got the better of me and I became reacquainted with my breakfast. I tied off the red plastic bag and dropped it off at the next roadside pee stop.

When we arrived in Gyantse that afternoon, I was feeling a bit better. Gyantse is a small Tibetan town that is less tainted by Chinese immigration than most other spots in Tibet. I wandered around town just before dusk and noticed a small monastery tucked into the fold of a mountainside. I asked Jeremy if on the following day he would want to hike to the monastery and continue on to the top. Jeremy was game.

We woke up the next morning, had breakfast, and set out a little before nine. After visiting a small monastery on the edge of town, we caught up with a group of five Tibetans on the path to the hillside monastery. We exchanged greetings and walked together. There were two young women, two young men, and an older woman who appeared to be the mother of the two girls. The younger guy, who we later learned to be 17 years old, held Jeremy’s hand as we walked. The younger girl, also 17, held mine. It was a sweet gesture, if a bit awkward.

We stopped at a pole strung with Tibetan prayer flags and left offerings of food at the base of the pole. We sat nearby and shared food. The men offered us Tibetan barley beer from a full gallon jug. When it was time to leave, the younger guy made a not too sly attempt to steal the snack offering that I had left at the foot of the pole. Jeremy and I gave him accusing looks, and with a laugh, he returned the offering to its place. Further up the path, we parted ways and continued on to the monastery, just the two of us.

When we arrived at the monastery, a monk greeted us and showed us around. He was kind, and we felt fortunate for his hospitality. It appeared that only three people lived there. He showed us some shrines and took us to the receiving quarters of the Lama of this particular monastery. The Lama had passed away, and the reincarnated Lama had yet to be identified, or chosen, if you will.

The monastery was not quite halfway up the mountain. We carried on, taking frequent rests due to the altitude. At about three in the afternoon, we reached the top and were rewarded with views of the surrounding valleys and two imposing, snow-covered mountains to the East. We had a snack and tied some Tibetan prayer flags to the already sizeable collection at the top.

The hike down took half as long as the ascent. Along the way, we talked of splurging on yak steak for dinner. I am quickly falling in love with yak meat–it’s a little tough and a little gamy, both in a good way.

Towards the end of our journey, we passed the pole where we had stopped with our Tibetan friends. Jeremy walked passed the base of the pole and noticed that my snack offering was missing.

It appears that our young friend’s lama incarnation may have to wait a few lifetimes.

Yesterday I arrived in Tibet by plane from Chengdu. As soon as I dropped my bags off at the Yak Hotel, I started making my way through town. Getting lost is the best way to get familiar with a new city.

Much of Lhasa looks like any other Chinese city: wide streets, unwieldy drivers, far too many clothing stores. The influence and impact of the Chinese presence here is undeniable. However, once one gets into the heart of Lhasa, there are narrow alleyways that weave a maze that is apparently impenetrable to Chinese culture. The architecture is different, people smile back when you smile at them, and Tibetans wear there spirituality on their sleeves in a way I have never seen.

I walk the streets and see Tibetans lying prostrate on the street then standing up in prayer, performing this act repeatedly, and moving forward a body-length each time. These people are making a pilgrimage to Lhasa and its holy sites, a rite of passage that every Tibetan will complete in his or her lifetime.

People all over the street are constantly spinning prayer wheels. Each rotation of the wheel is the equivalent to reciting a mantra.