What's it all about?

I am preparing to return to Cambodia. I'm sad to leave Tibet, but ready to move on and get back to my reality of life in Cambodia. I have been a mere observer in this exotic land of beautiful people. Reflecting on the past months, I feel I have lived my dream, so what happens from here is inconsequential.

I met a Chinese-Canadia girl, Ting Ting (Tina), who by speaking Chinese has helped me to get to know Tibetan people (Tibetans speak Tibetan, but also some Chinese). She befriended a lama, PouQiong Lama, from the Jokhang, and brought me along to visit him. The Jokhang is revered as the most holy structure in Tibet, and is a place to spend endless hours watching the masses of pilgrims prostrating toward the main alter, circling the Barkhor circuit, touching auspicious objects; their dress resembling a medieval circus. Pilgrims wait in a long line to touch their head to the left leg to the most important shrine in Tibet, Jowo Sakyamuni, while Chinese police keep the worshippers from staying too long.

All this was in my mind as we entered after-hours, climbed the stairs to the roof to see the full moon shrouded in puffy clouds illuminating the mountains and the intricate roofline of the inner sanctum. It was stunning. Our humble lama friend took us to an off-limits (to the public) area; the personal study of the Dahli Lama. He is the personal keeper of the room, cleaning it dailey though it remains unused. To understand the love and devotion Tibetans have for the Dahli Lama is hard to articulate. Their life's dream is to meet him, they will follow his wishes...all things we can't probably realte to. Yet, the Chinese government has outlawed even possessing a picture of him (though many have them hidden).

All this was in my mind as the lama placed around my neck a blessed kathak, a long white ceremonial scarf, from the study for good luck. I felt very fortunate and wished that the many pilgrams below could share my experience. Afterward we went to his small room and had tea and talked about his life and the 22 of his 34 years as a monk.

A younger friend that Ting Ting brought along for dinner is Jy Shitzale, an 18 year old who prostrated (up and down prayer movements) 385km to Lhasa, along with his 14 year old sister, taking 3 months 16 days. While in Lhasa, they prostate all day every day, wearing a yak hide apron and wooden hand protectors, taking a few fast steps then sliding along the pavement with the momentum. His forehead has a lump and callase from touching his head to the ground repeatedly. They sleep in a monastery for about $.12 per night. His sister will soon become a nun.

One night we went to a Tibetan night club for traditional dancing and to watch the various acts of singing, dancing, comedy, and even a ladyboy performance. When we returned to the hotel I met Hardy's wife, then Hardy (he didn't live up to his name, as you'll see). She came bouncing down the stairs, babbling "my huzband iz dying, he needz a doctor, he con't breathe" in her Dutch accent. I ran for Marcus (who just finished his doctorate in medicine in Brazil), then ran for some cans of oxygen. We all met in Hardy's room, and he was in a mild seizure state, gasping for air, head swollen, saliva with a bit of blood running out of his mouth. Marcus didn't recognize it as AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness, AKA Altitude Sickness) right away and thought he was having a stroke. Hardy made grunting noises like a good monster who'd been captured by the villians, and pushed away the oxygen tubes we stuck in front of his face (so Michele just pointed it at his nose). After 8 cans of oxygen and 20 minutes the ambulance arrived, though they were not helpful. Marcus, Michele and I put him in a blanket and carried him into the ambulance (Marcus went along and stayed up all night with him). Hardy spent the next 4 days in the hospital, getting his oxygens levels back up and taking diaretics to get the water out of his lungs. I ran into them yesterday at the hotel and he is recovering OK.

I have encounter numerous tourists with all types of ailments. Many suffer from the altitude, colds are spread easily with the altitude, dry air and all the spitting. Food poisoning and parasites are common. I diagnosed myself with Giardia and took Tinidazole. A German guy walked up on sleeping dogs at a Nunnery; they awoke and surrounded him, and when he went to run they bit him on the hand and leg. The injuries weren't serious, but he was afraid enough of rabies that he flew home for proper treatment and cut his travels short. Let sleeping dogs lie, and take comfort in the good hygiene and safety of the developed world (the toilets here are almost all squatter style, and generally disgusting).

I camped 2 nights above a nunnery with a great hot springs. It was set in a magnificent gorge with massive rock peaks in the backdrop, and more payer flags than I'd ever seen. It was paradise with 1 sad caveate; lots of garbage in the stream and human waste around the village. Older Tibetans and those with physical problems flock there for the hot springs' revered healing properties. The public bus (think freezer with wheels) ride there was packed, though we kept picking up people and cases of beer. The old woman next to me on the engine cover couldn't close the window because she had a chest cold (they are like dogs in a car).

While the Chinese have brought some infrastructure improvements to Tibet, their outright violation of human rights and deprivation of these people's religious freedom is unforgivable (unless they leave). I don't know what can be done at this stage, but it is hard to not be angry if you see it. I am not a friend of the Chinese Governement.

I love Tibet, and most everything about it. It is a long way from anywhere, and I think about the destruction (global warming, oil spills, wars) I cause to travel here. I will buy credits through an NGO to offset my greenhouse emmission (here's onea calculator; http://carbonfund.org/site/pages/calculator/ or http://www.ecobusinesslinks.com/ecological_footprint_calculator.htm) when I return, and hope you will consider the real costs of travel when you make your plans.

Trekking Out

Leaving Lhasa for Ganden Monastery, the start of our trek, the taxi broke down repeatedly before getting ouut of town. After lots of pushing and breaking of tow ropes, the drive to the mountaintop monastery was pleasant and scenic. At 15,000', I had to re-acclimate.

We had dinner in a monk's room, cooking our noodles on a yak dung fire in his castle-like perch while I imagined Repunzo letting her hair out of the window. After dinner the "teacher" came to meet us, and we were quite amused by the interactions between student and teacher. The students never came too close, preferrring to be several steps away from him, and maintaining a nervous disposition. A form of respect unlike any that exist in Western culture. The teacher was tall, strong looking, and had an extremely deep voice. He meditates for 8 hours per day, had a great presence, and discussed our cultures through the evening with the translation of one of his students, Goca.

I accepted their hospitality and drank 2 cups of yak butter tea, which was bearable, but may have been the culprit for the heaving I woke in the middle of the night to. Despite little sleep, I felt surprisingly OK in the morning, and we loaded our packs onto 2 ponies and headed over the first pass to the hillside village of Hepu. The buildings were all picturesque stone, with stone-wall pastuers, courtyards, piles of straw, dund drying, dirty-faced, rosey cheeked kids... We stopped at our non-English speaking guide's house for a rest and lunch, met moma, grandpa, and 2 of the 4 kids. All to soon, we headed out of town, following a babbling mountain stream past many grazing yaks, towering peaks, and curious villagers hard at work with the barley harvest. That short stretch felt like a stroll in a wonderland. Time travel. I didn't want to leave.

We hiked up the valley to a green-grass meadow where we camped on the edge of canyon. The views were stunning as the sun set, and we all had a nice evening drinking tea under the stars in the cold mountain air.

In the morning I decided to hike with my friends from our campsite at Yama Do to the top of Shug-la Pass (I love the names), 17,300', then go back to the village of Hepu while my friends continued the long trek to Samye Monastery. It was the last time I would encounter anyone who spoke English until I returned to the capital Lhasa.

On my way down to Hepu I met up with 10 teenage boys and girls in their early stage of the 48 mile trek to Samye Monastery, presumably a religious pilgrimage, and were attempting it with little gear or provisions, hiking through the night. They met up with Michele and Marcos that night, cold and hungry, and continued on after a short rest at their camp.

I walked into Hepu in the dark. Scared of Tibetan dogs, I paid some teenagers to escort me from the edge of town to my new host family, where they gave me a hot meal and a bed in their main room. Moma and 2 sons were sleeping in their camp; a tent in the pastuer 1.5 miles out of town. Grandpa sleeps outside with about 10 blankets and ends the day with chanting by candlelight.

I woke up to find the daughter, Danzilamo, also sleeping in my room. She is tall and cute with an energetic shyness. I thought she was about 16, but she is 22. I helped her with yesterdays dishes and some house chores, then made her breakfast and we sat down to eat with grandpa. She had a great relationship with her grandpa, and it was great to see the family bonds and simplicity of country life. I followed Danzilamo around for the morning like a puppy-dog, but once we went out into the community she disassociated herself with me.

We went out to work the barley post-harvest; getting the grain from the stalk. My role was quickly identified at the end of the line, helping with the back-breaking task of bundling the barley stalks, then carrying them across the field, over a short wall, up a 45 degree ladder (cardio-overload by the time I got to the ladder, gasping for air here at 14,000'), and onto a massive stack of yak food inside a walled pen.

I did improve the process after the communal lunch (the same dish as the prior evening; potatoes, pasta, and yak meat in a heavy cream-stew). The teenage boys, sometimes competing against each other for the biggest bundle, then needing long periods of rest between loads, were open to improvement, and I stationed myself at the ladder. I'd take their load before they stepped onto the wall, then would heave it onto the pile, where a young boy would position and untie it. A highlight of the trip was when grandpa wandered out to watch, and gave a loud GAFAW laugh of approval when I tossed a bundle.

By 3 PM, I was spent, and went to rinse off the sneezy-dust and took a 2 hour nap while everyone else worked another 5 hours. After waking up I stayed in the courtyard with grandpa to avoid any uncomfortably requests to work more, and relaxed as the sun set on the stunning peaks. I though about how I couldn't have had such a great experience if I wasn't alone, and had an appreciation for being single.

The imagery throughout my stay in Hepu was stunning, and the timing for a camera battery failure was ironic. I looked at the bright side of the situation, and relaxed knowing that I couldn't capture anything and didn't feel as much like an outsider pointing a camera at everyone.

The next morning I woke again to a sparrow trapped in the room, which I caught easily and released outside. Releasing sparrows is a buddhist act to symbolize freedom. It was a perfect morning, and while I thought of staying longer, I decided I should either work or leave, and while I loved their agrarian/herding lifestyle, heading back to civilization beat out working in the fields again. My back made a veto vote.

Danzilamo and her horse escorted me back to the road, her horse carrying my pack. There was a fresh snow on the peaks, herds of yak and herders, and 2 quaint villages en route.

Back on the main road I flagger down a pilgrim bus back to Lhasa.

Letting Go

The first 5 months in Cambodia were possibly the best months of my life, and then 'month 6' brought challenges on multiple fronts, and the reality that the awe of everything new and exciting could be dwindling. Life was still good, but I knew I would have to come down from the high at some point and it seemed that time had come. A major crush came on September 11th when I had a tense meeting with the "orphanage" management. They had a long list of complaints and suspicions about my activities, mostly surrounding whether I was discouraging donors by spotlighting dubious activities (this was true) and a mentality of entitlement that the funding I was using for Aziza Schoolhouse was really intended for them (this is ridiculous). At the end of the meeting they asked that the partnership be discontinued, and my translators felt their was a threatening undertone. To this, there wasn't room for sadness, no time to reflect on the many bonds with the kids that would be severed. It seemed the best thing I could do was to get out of town for while, clear my head, regain my focus... I was on a plane to Tibet 2 days later! The timing was right; I had 2 friends from Phnom Penh who had invited me to meet them, and where on earth better to "let go" and re-evaluate life plans than the spiritual epicenter that is Tibet. Aziza Schoolhouse is my real passion, and will continue to operate and be the focus of all of my efforts on my return.

Landing in the capital, Lhasa, felt being home in Colorado, but with an exotic culture and a drastic altitude adjustment. At 3600m, about 12,000', it took me several days to get on my feet. It was great to see some familiar faces - Marcus and Michele were waiting to greet me. After an overnight flight, I threw down my bag and we headed out of town in the cool air and strong sun to Drepung Monastary. Founded in 1415, the monastary is a village/walled fortress and once-self-contained world that housed 10,000 monks in 1951 when the Chinese took over. Today there are around 800 monks. The architecture, scenery, culture...all blew my mind, and was one the most impressive sights I've ever visited.

The next days were filled with headaches, naps, and visits to unbeliveable sights of exotic culture and spritual devotion. Pilgrims flood the temples and plazas, dressed in traditional attire and adorned with colorful jewelry, spinning prayer wheels, prostrating (a series of poses from standing to face-down on the ground, hands in front of the head), and chanting. A visit to Ramoche Temple was hypnotic, as a large group of monks chanted in the deepest voices, beat drums and clasped symbols to create a cresendo of sound like a massive thunder storm. I closed my eyes and without prompting went into a meditative state where I envisioned the main antagonist from the orphanage, Samnang, crying and experiencing emotion alongside myself. It was a welcome vision from the anger I had been harboring for him.

That night I went to the Jokhang, the city center and most revered religious structure in Tibet, and watched the last of the pilgrims prostrating. It was 11PM, and with few people around I felt comfortable enough to try this practice myself. As soon as I started, a woman gave me her piece of carpet and hand pads to make a clean, swimming movement on the stone plaza. The family all watched, and while I felt a bit corney at first, I realized they really liked having a foreigner experience their religion and traditions. I went up and down, over and over, forgetting that anyone was watching, forgetting about being tired, thirsty...until it seemed right to stop, and in a daze I thanked the family for staying late while I used their mats, feeling connected...

The special interactions didn't stop. I was witnessing a tea blessing, where a monk poured tea over the heads and into the mouths' of small goups of pilgrims. After about 4 groups went through, the monk commanded me to get on my knees with the other pilgrims, and so I too was blessed. I later drank from a holy spring, spun countless prayer wheels, and have visited spots of deep historical-religious significance dailey. Religious devotion is the fad on the millenium here.

Oh, and there are many intersting smells, the most dominant being yak butter, which is the base-note for all the local dishes as well as the fuel for all the candles (for which there are many). There's also inscents and sage burning, which can be on a massive scale - like a smokestack equivalent to a small industrial facilitiy, but better smelling. There's also the standard urine, sewer, raw meat, body odor (the Australian in my dorm; he's biking around the world - 4 years so far, 30,000 miles in all: http://brinkx.org/theexpedition/theexpedition.asp#Route)...

After a week in Lhasa, taking a mix of western and eastern altitude medications, I was ready to head out of town.