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!