Back from the big TREK, alive and well and in one piece (a piece with very very sore legs, but whole nonetheless). In 4 days we: climbed up and down about 8,000 feet; lived free from motorized vehicles of any kind; got soaked to the skin by monsoon rains; saw countless wildflowers of yellow, purple, white, blue; hiked along green-on-green-on-green ravines with rivers fed by waterfalls cascading down the rocks and streams that often ran right along our path; and stood beneath towering peaks covered in snow, wreathed in fog, lit by the sun's setting and rising. All in all, it's the hardest that I can remember pushing my body in years, and some of the most striking scenery I've ever seen.
Tomorrow it's back to Kathmandu for a night, then on to Hong Kong for a day, and then home, which feels awfully far away at the moment!
Friday, August 13, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Ups and Downs
As it turns out, visiting Nepal in August may not have been the best idea ever. The monsoons turned the streets of Khatmandu into ankle-deep rivers at least once a day, and when it's not raining, the heat and humidity are difficult to take. After a day of pessimism on the bus to Pokhara today, worried about the weather and visibility issues for the five day trek we start in on tomorrow morning, Kevin suggested that we go out for a rowboat ride on the lake. Pulling out into the lake, the trees on the shore shrank to reveal a truly stunning ridge of mountains behind. At less than 3000 feet here, we were staring up a string of peaks between 20,000 and 27,000 feet high. It was breathtaking. And as the sun set, the sky lit up fiery red and gold. And with that, my excitement for our trek rekindled. I'm taking that image to bed with me, rather than my worry about the heat and clouds. I'll update when I get back next weekend!
Some Diary Entries
Thursday, 5 Aug. 2010, 10:09 PM, Rombok Monastery, Tibet
Unfortunately, Images of Everest's peak are nto yet burned into my mind. Clouds and fog obscured the upper 2/3 of the mountain today. Still, just being in the presence of such a looming force of nature made my eyes water a bit.
We've seen many monasteries so far, but only one nunnery. And that one packed a real punch. Just three nuns sat in the assembly hall on the hill overlooking Sakya. Two older ones read scriptures under a single bare bulb, while a younger one tidied up the altar. All seemed to welcome our visit, though they freaked out when one of my tour-mates began to circle the hall counter-clockwise. Their concern for her well being was serious. More than the monasteries with monks loitering around and pilgrims stuffing money into the glass in front of statues, this place seemed like one of genuine retreat and meditation. Outside in the courtyard, a team of 15 worked to move a massive rock up the hill to its future home in a rebuilt corner of the convent yard. Old women, young boys, and everyone in between pulled mightily on ropes looped around the white stone. Sometimes they managed to bring the stone one more turn uphill, other times the ropes slipped and went slack in their hands.
The monastery in Sakya also felt more mystical than average. A holy conch shell blown by a monk upon request (and donation) for ailing or dead relatives sounded in the ancient assembly hall supported with pillars made from whole hewn tree trunks from Tibet, India, and china. Through the layers of smooth red paint on each column, you can still make out the crevasses and twists of the tree. Some are adorned with
an elephant tusk or tiger skin. And then there was the library, a wall of sacred texts 50 feet tall and four or five times that in length. The long rectangular volumes are each placed in cloth and wood containers and slid into shelves lengthwise. Stacked on top of each other in rows and columns, they stretched nearly as far as the eye coud see in the dim light. They gave off a palpable energy. Old. Serious. Profound. Inscrutable. Mystical. Magical.
Friday, 6 Aug. 2010, 7:12 PM, Zhangmu, Tibet
Our head to head battle with the aqua Dong Feng has passed the 20 minute mark. Here in Zhangmu there's only one street, carved into the side of the gorge, and our bus's attempt to squeeze past the truck has brought all traffic to a standstill. The police are here attempting to direct things. A soldier stands by watching. A parade of locals squeezes past on the narrow sidewalks, tilting their colorful umbrellas to get by. The Chupa Chups in the grocery store window a few feet away are looking more and more irresistible. The burnt rubber smell from our breaks, already taxed from our 2500 m. descent from Everest, has become intoxicating. All the shopkeepers have come outside to watch the show, some bringing goods displayed on the sidewalk in out of harm's way. Our guide just climbed out his window to join our driver, who's outside having a smoke. Minute 25 and half of our tour group is shouting directions from inside. Outside, five or ten locals are directing the drivers as well. The man with the pencil mustache has taken charge. Finally things shift, and we're side to side. Clearance looks dicey, and Dong Feng refuses to move forward. Eventually the yelling crowd eggs him on, and he pulls forward enough that we squeeze past with three inches to spare. Another half hour winding through the remaining traffic snarl, and we're at our guest house. What a show!
Unfortunately, Images of Everest's peak are nto yet burned into my mind. Clouds and fog obscured the upper 2/3 of the mountain today. Still, just being in the presence of such a looming force of nature made my eyes water a bit.
We've seen many monasteries so far, but only one nunnery. And that one packed a real punch. Just three nuns sat in the assembly hall on the hill overlooking Sakya. Two older ones read scriptures under a single bare bulb, while a younger one tidied up the altar. All seemed to welcome our visit, though they freaked out when one of my tour-mates began to circle the hall counter-clockwise. Their concern for her well being was serious. More than the monasteries with monks loitering around and pilgrims stuffing money into the glass in front of statues, this place seemed like one of genuine retreat and meditation. Outside in the courtyard, a team of 15 worked to move a massive rock up the hill to its future home in a rebuilt corner of the convent yard. Old women, young boys, and everyone in between pulled mightily on ropes looped around the white stone. Sometimes they managed to bring the stone one more turn uphill, other times the ropes slipped and went slack in their hands.
The monastery in Sakya also felt more mystical than average. A holy conch shell blown by a monk upon request (and donation) for ailing or dead relatives sounded in the ancient assembly hall supported with pillars made from whole hewn tree trunks from Tibet, India, and china. Through the layers of smooth red paint on each column, you can still make out the crevasses and twists of the tree. Some are adorned with
an elephant tusk or tiger skin. And then there was the library, a wall of sacred texts 50 feet tall and four or five times that in length. The long rectangular volumes are each placed in cloth and wood containers and slid into shelves lengthwise. Stacked on top of each other in rows and columns, they stretched nearly as far as the eye coud see in the dim light. They gave off a palpable energy. Old. Serious. Profound. Inscrutable. Mystical. Magical.
Friday, 6 Aug. 2010, 7:12 PM, Zhangmu, Tibet
Our head to head battle with the aqua Dong Feng has passed the 20 minute mark. Here in Zhangmu there's only one street, carved into the side of the gorge, and our bus's attempt to squeeze past the truck has brought all traffic to a standstill. The police are here attempting to direct things. A soldier stands by watching. A parade of locals squeezes past on the narrow sidewalks, tilting their colorful umbrellas to get by. The Chupa Chups in the grocery store window a few feet away are looking more and more irresistible. The burnt rubber smell from our breaks, already taxed from our 2500 m. descent from Everest, has become intoxicating. All the shopkeepers have come outside to watch the show, some bringing goods displayed on the sidewalk in out of harm's way. Our guide just climbed out his window to join our driver, who's outside having a smoke. Minute 25 and half of our tour group is shouting directions from inside. Outside, five or ten locals are directing the drivers as well. The man with the pencil mustache has taken charge. Finally things shift, and we're side to side. Clearance looks dicey, and Dong Feng refuses to move forward. Eventually the yelling crowd eggs him on, and he pulls forward enough that we squeeze past with three inches to spare. Another half hour winding through the remaining traffic snarl, and we're at our guest house. What a show!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Off Trekking!
Having finished up our group tour, we're off trekking in Pokhara for the week. It's the heart of the Himalayas, and it promises to be absolutely spectacular as long as we don't get poured on the whole time. Fingers crossed! Will update more on what I've been doing and seeing when I'm back in computer range.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
All Natural
Forget the people here, the topography and natural beauty of Tibet is just unreal. From Lhasa to Gyantze we drove over one measly 4700m pass, a fertile valley on one side, the insane switchbacked road we'd driven up visible all the way down, and a snaking blue lake on the other that reflected the sky as the sun peeked in and out of the clouds. Along the lake, vivid crayola yellow plots of flowering mustard contrasted with the water, green hills, and blue sky above in striking blocks of color. And then it was on to the big pass of the day. At over 5000m, glacier covered peaks lay on either side -- at least I assume they were peaks, as they disappeared into the clouds above, slopes of crinkled snow disappearing into the ceiling of gray mist. Then through more arid valleys beyond, fewer herds of sheep and yaks clinging to plunging slopes on this side of the pass. The violent thrust of the Indian subcontinent into Asia has done some crazy things to the layered rocks here. Looking around valleys carpeted with waving barley stalks, the lines in the surrounding mountain-ettes run in every direction: upthrust at a uniform 70 degrees on one, swirled on its neighbor, and zig-zagged on the one next to that. These layers of red, tan, brown, chalk, made for subtle and beautiful scenery out the bus window or from the top of the Gyantze fort, built on a tall hill in the middle of a vast valley. Add in the cloud shadows on the ground and shifting light across the valley as things went from rain to sun, and it was truly magical.
Many Monasteries
Day six in Tibet, and I'm still not monasteried out. Despite the shared iconography, monks in red and saffron robes, stupas, assembly halls, and butter lamps, each one stands out with its own personality. Ganden, perches two thousand feet above the valley below. Almost entirely rebuilt after being shelled to rubble by the Chinese, it looks like every Hollywood home for powerful Tibetan mystics -- think Batman Begins without the snow (though it has that too for much of the year). With the crowds of Lhasa left thankfully behind, Ganden gave me the first chance to really savor the over-stimulation of colorful wall paintings, golden Buddhas dressed in many layers, decorative ribbon circles hanging from the ceiling, and altars heaped with small bills, fruits, and prepackaged cups of jello with fruit. Walking the Kora around the mountain behind Ganden provided stunning views of valleys ribboned with ice blue rivers, green barley terraces, deep high-altitude (14,000 ft) blue skies hung with still white clouds, and mountain peaks in all directions. Squeezing through a hole in the rock along the way, I was reborn.
At Gyantze, with it's tiered Kumbum featuring 73 chapels and 100,000 images of the Buddha, three different sects co-exist in harmony. Walking clockwise circles around each successive level of the Kumbum, peering into the chapels to be met with images of wild eyed protector demons wreathed in flames or the peaceful face of one of Buddha's many forms, I began to grasp the power in the repetition of iconography and ritual that seems to be a central part of Buddhist worship.
Tashilhunpo, seat of the Panchen Lamas, brings you face to face with the Chinese efforts to interfere with Tibetan religion over the past decades. I should amend my previous post after doing a bit more reading -- while the 10th Panchen Lama, a cute chubby-faced guy with smiling eyes, was indeed picked by the Chinese government, the atrocities of 1959 turned him around and his criticism of China earned him 14 years in jail. So the ubiquitous photos of him at monasteries throughout the country tell a story whose meaning may largely be in the eye of the beholder. The current 11th, however, is unambiguous - China keeps the first-identified Lama imprisoned and the second, chosen at the government's command, kept tightly under wraps in Beijing. His picture, while largely absent from other monasteries, was all around Tashilhunpo.
One thing that unifies all of these monasteries (and the others I've passed over here) is the devotion of the pilgrims and the diversity of their ages. Many many parents bring their children, praying together at the altars, leaving small bills, and filling lamps with ghee. Adults bring aging parents, helping them up and down the steep steps. Outside of Poland, I haven't seen evidence of this level of religious commitment anywhere else I've traveled. Tomorrow we head off to smaller and smaller towns. Two nights from now, I should go to sleep with images of Everest etched in my eyes. Then to the Nepali boarder and into yet another land.
At Gyantze, with it's tiered Kumbum featuring 73 chapels and 100,000 images of the Buddha, three different sects co-exist in harmony. Walking clockwise circles around each successive level of the Kumbum, peering into the chapels to be met with images of wild eyed protector demons wreathed in flames or the peaceful face of one of Buddha's many forms, I began to grasp the power in the repetition of iconography and ritual that seems to be a central part of Buddhist worship.
Tashilhunpo, seat of the Panchen Lamas, brings you face to face with the Chinese efforts to interfere with Tibetan religion over the past decades. I should amend my previous post after doing a bit more reading -- while the 10th Panchen Lama, a cute chubby-faced guy with smiling eyes, was indeed picked by the Chinese government, the atrocities of 1959 turned him around and his criticism of China earned him 14 years in jail. So the ubiquitous photos of him at monasteries throughout the country tell a story whose meaning may largely be in the eye of the beholder. The current 11th, however, is unambiguous - China keeps the first-identified Lama imprisoned and the second, chosen at the government's command, kept tightly under wraps in Beijing. His picture, while largely absent from other monasteries, was all around Tashilhunpo.
One thing that unifies all of these monasteries (and the others I've passed over here) is the devotion of the pilgrims and the diversity of their ages. Many many parents bring their children, praying together at the altars, leaving small bills, and filling lamps with ghee. Adults bring aging parents, helping them up and down the steep steps. Outside of Poland, I haven't seen evidence of this level of religious commitment anywhere else I've traveled. Tomorrow we head off to smaller and smaller towns. Two nights from now, I should go to sleep with images of Everest etched in my eyes. Then to the Nepali boarder and into yet another land.
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