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Asia Travelogue, part 3
My guidebook for
for a good view of the mountains. Instead, I was assigned a seat in the
middle of the plane where I had a good view of Polly, a movie about a
talking parrot. Judging by the oohs and awes that
were coming from the
passengers with window seats, the view must have indeed been quite nice as
we made our descent. I managed to get a glimpse out the window, which
revealed the kind of site I went to
mountain peaks rising above the clouds, with valleys below that flattened
out into a green plane cracked by thin rivers. There was no sign of
civilization until we reached the edge of the airport.
We flew into the Gonkar airport, which is also
referred to as the
airport, even though it is a two-hour bus ride to
reason why the airport was built so far outside the city unless it was to
force people to hand over more dollars to the government-owned bus line.
We were at 13,000 feet above sea level. By the time I got my luggage and
boarded the chartered bus, I was feeling the effects of the altitude. I
could feel my heart beating rapidly as it struggled to move blood through
my veins. Looking around the bus, I saw that it was jammed with tourists
just like the plane. There were far more tourists than I had expected. At
one point during the bus ride, we drove by a small flat-bottomed boat
carrying two Caucasians. They stood up and waved and the people on the bus
excitedly waved back. I had hoped that by going to
visiting an out-of-the-way place that had not yet been overrun with
tourists. Now I found myself on a bus crammed with tourists, waving at
other tourists. However, things would improve once we lost the tour group
and got out of
The city of
with a population of just under 200,000. Only a third are ethnic Tibetans;
the rest are mainly Chinese bureaucrats and military personnel.
like the country of
since 1959 as part of the PRC's plan to dilute the
ethnic population and
wipe out their culture. The city was once home to 20,000 Buddhist monks
and many temples and monasteries. Now, there is little that remains of the
original city and its architecture.
other Chinese city with cold utilitarian buildings and wide boulevards
filled with traffic.
We were taken to the Banak Shol,
which was the "hotel" chosen for us by the
travel agency. It was by far the worst hotel we stayed in during our trip,
and that is quite a distinction. We would stay in nine different hotels
before returning to
I'll give you a brief general description. Of course, we always looked for
the absolute cheapest place in town. We would then ask for a
dormitory-style room, which was always the cheapest room. It might contain
anywhere from four to twelve beds. Guests were assigned to the room on a
first-come, first-served basis, regardless of sex, so you never knew whom
you might be sleeping with. Usually, we roomed with other foreigners, but
some of the hotels were all Chinese. At one of them, we had to pay for an
empty fourth bed because the manager said that it was unlikely that a
Chinese guest would be willing to share a room with foreigners. This is a
reflection of the racism that I repeatedly encountered in Mainland
and
in
a room with a foreigner, but the manager did not seem to mind that
Jane
was sharing a room with Alan and me. All that mattered was that we had money.
Typically, the room would have a concrete floor with no carpeting. There
would be no heat or air conditioning. There would be a community toilet
down the hall, outside of which would be a sink, but no hot water. At one
hotel, there was no running water at all, and there was electricity only
periodically. They would boil water for drinking purposes with a kettle
that was placed in the center of a hyperbolic reflector panel that used the
sun's rays for heat. My bed was usually nothing more than a thin mattress
set in a crude wooden frame. There was always a blanket on the bed, but
there might or might not be sheets. When there were sheets, they were not
clean. I would guess that they wash the sheets once a month or so. Keep
in mind that many of these hotels had no showers, so the person who used
your sheets before you might not have bathed in days. The wisest packing
decision I ever made was to take my own pillowcase.
At the Banak Shol, our room
contained five beds, one of which stayed empty.
The fourth person in our room was a Frenchman who was traveling alone. He
turned out to be a real nice guy, so Alan managed to keep his hatred of all
things French in check. The floor was partially covered by old thin green
carpet, beneath which was standing water, which resulted in a strong musty
odor permeating the room. However, we couldn't open the door for fresh air
or else we would be overwhelmed by the stench of the toilet that was around
the corner and down the hall. The room also contained at least a dozen
flies at all times. The odd thing about these flies was that rather than
flying in circles, they flew in perfect squares. Trying to think like a
Tibetan Buddhist, I thought maybe the flies were reincarnated souls trying
to communicate with us through geometry. Unfortunately, geometry was one
of my worst subjects in high school, so within hours of our arrival, Alan
and I went out and bought some flypaper.
As soon as we stepped outside of the Banak Shol, beggars honed in on us
like cruise missiles. This is worth commenting upon. Before going to
monasteries built on snow-covered mountainsides and Buddhist monks with
heads bowed, deep in contemplation. Now I just envision beggars.
national flag should have an open hand in its center. I encountered more
beggars in one day than I have in my whole life. They were mostly old
women and small children and they were all Tibetan. I saw very few beggars
in Mainland
Chinese are proud people who refuse to take money from others unless they
cheat them out of it fair and square. They wouldn't even accept cookies
when we offered them to them on the train. Alan said he always offers his
bunkmates cookies in order to ease the tension, but he's never had anyone
accept.
It's a whole other world in
They want you to think that they are orphans, but there is usually a parent
somewhere nearby trying to stay out of sight. The parent will mess up the
child's hair and rub dirt on his face to make him look more bathetic. When
the parent spots a white person, she will point and give the child a nudge.
Like a well trained birddog, he knows what to do next. He makes his way
through the crowd of Tibetans and Chinese to catch up to the white person
and then runs along side him asking for money in Tibetan, oftentimes crying
and wailing. Sometimes, they wouldn't make eye contact and they would just
mumble. I'm guessing that they know that the white person does not
understand Tibetan, so there is no point in actually speaking. However,
they know that they are expected to say something, so they simply mumble
some meaningless gibberish. Usually, they hold up a fist-full of money.
That is an interesting begging technique that I had not seen before. I suppose
they do that so
that I will know what they are asking for. Another possibility is that
they think that if they show me what a successful beggar they are, I'll be
persuaded to hand over my money, confident in the knowledge that my money
is going for top quality begging.
The beggar child might follow you for a block before giving up. You would
then be in the territory of another beggar who would take over. If you
ignore him, he might press the back of his open hand against you. They
were so filthy that wherever they touched me, they left a mark. I felt
sorry for these kids because I knew that they were being used as tools by
their parents and they had little say in the matter. Still, the constant
daily harassment gradually coarsened me until I found myself yelling at
little kids and shoving them.
When eating in restaurants, we quickly learned to avoid window seats. If a
beggar spotted a white person in a restaurant, he wouldn't hesitate to go
inside and ask for money. The manager of the restaurant would take no
action to make him leave. A beggar might stand at our table continuously
asking for money for five minutes straight, thinking we'd eventually give
him something just because of the annoyance factor. If he thought that's
all it takes to get Alan and me to part with our money, then he clearly
picked the wrong white people. Out of frustration, some of them would
start banging on the table beside my noodle bowl with their clenched fist
full of cash.
When our bus would make a stop between towns on long trips, beggars would
actually come onto the bus to ask us for money. When we would lock the
door, they would bang on the windows.
Always being targeted because I'm a white person was extremely aggravating.
Along with the shop owners and everyone else, the beggars buy into a racial
stereotype of all white people being millionaires who have no regard for
money. If they were in serious need of help, you would think that they
would go to their fellow Tibetans and not bother visitors from another
country. When we would be hit up in a restaurant, Alan would point the
beggar to another table where Tibetans were eating, as if to say, "Go ask
your own people for money." After some reluctance, a couple of the beggars
actually did so. I found it quite amusing, but I think this irritated the
Tibetans at the other table.
Always being targeted by beggars was also perplexing. During our two weeks
in
every morning, the beggars get out of bed, rub dirt on their faces, and hit
the streets in search of white people. Why? I guess racial stereotypes
die hard. Maybe Richard Gere made a pass through
pilgrimage, throwing money into the air. Ever since then, when a Tibetan
sees a white man, he assumes it's the candy man.
During our second week in
beggar repellant. Because our hotels had no hot water and no mirrors, I
had not shaved since leaving
wore the same pair of pants everyday, which quickly became covered in dirt
and grime. I then started noticing that the beggar children were avoiding
me. They started going to Alan, who did not look much better. They seemed
to be frightened of me. Either that, or they assumed
that I was a beggar
myself. So if you can't beat them, join them.
One thing that most beggars, shop owners, and street vendors have in common
is that they first try to get your attention by saying, "Hello!" But
they
don't say it in a friendly manner; rather, they say it like throwing a
dagger. It is the only English word they know. However, I began to
wonder whether they think it is a greeting or the word for money. Whenever
you hear the word, "Hello!", you know it is
someone wanting money. A
beggar says "Hello!". Meaning: "Give me
some money."
says "Hello!". Meaning: "Buy my cheap
crap and give me some money." Even
more offensive to the ears, he might say, "Hello! Lookie, lookie!"
A monk
says, "Hello! Hello!". Meaning: "You
have to give me some money before
you can enter my monastery."
It is another part of the racial stereotype of white people held by
Tibetans and Chinese that all white people speak English. Alan tried to
tell his Chinese students that most white people in the world do NOT speak
English, but they refused to believe him. Thus, every white tourist hears,
"Hello! Hello!" (The French must love that.) By the time we left, I
hated
the word "hello." When walking in
every three minutes. I quickly learned to tune it out and not look up.
However, when you ignore someone saying hello, they will continue to say
it, but louder and harsher. Sometimes they would still be screaming it at
me when I reached the end of the block and turned the corner.
When we were on a bus out in the country in the middle of nowhere, we
passed a single little boy standing along the roadside. Seeing a white
face, he yelled, "Hello!!", and held his hand out as we zipped by at
40
mph. Apparently, he was hoping that I would spring into
action by reaching
into my big sack of cash and throwing bills out the window.
Other than leaving to buy the flypaper, we stayed in our "hotel" room
and
took it easy on our first day in
sickness. On day two, we went exploring the city. Jane wanted to rent
bicycles, but Alan said that would be too expensive. Instead, we found a
small rice shop that had a large tricycle they used to make deliveries.
After determining that they didn't have any deliveries to make for the
remainder of the day, Alan asked them if we could rent the tricycle. Alan
said he had done the same thing on past trips throughout Mainland
That's the kind of budget traveling tip you don't get from Lonely Planet.
Instead of paying 3 to 6 RMB per hour for each of three bicycles, we paid
10 RMB for one tricycle for the full day. One of us would peddle while the
other two would sit on empty rice sacks draped over sides of the trailer in
back. The best part was that whenever we would hear, "Hello!", all we had
to do was peddle faster to leave the beggar in the dust.
Simply by walking on the sidewalk, we attracted attention because we were
white. So you can't begin to imagine the amount of stares that were
generated by the sight of two white guys and a Chinese girl all crammed
onto one beat-up delivery tricycle. I tried not to let it bother me, but I
must admit that I became embarrassed when Alan insisted that Jane take a
turn peddling. Fair is fair, right? Business along the nearby sidewalk
came to a halt as people stopped what they were doing to watch the 85-pound
Chinese girl with a touch of altitude sickness try to peddle a tricycle
with two big white guys on it while one of them is yelling, "Peddle!
Peddle! Keep the wheel straight! You're going into the curb!!" Jane made
it about 10 yards before giving up. She took it all in fun, though. She
laughed and then turned the peddling over to Alan.
After eating lunch, we rode the tricycle to the outdoor market area. We
locked the tricycle using the lock the rice shop had given us, and we went
walking around. Although it is clearly a tourist ghetto, the market is a
fascinating place that we would return to time and again. There must have
been over 200 tables. You could buy Buddhist monk robes, incense, prayer
wheels, Tibetan clothing, coins, jewelry, and even seashells. (Whoever is
going to
his money taken.) Like everywhere else in
bargaining is crucial. If you are white, you will be quoted a price twice
what a Chinese would be quoted. If Jane had not been with me, I might as
well have tossed my wallet on the ground and been done with it. One of her
first purchases was a gaudy Tibetan necklace. The negotiating began with a
quoted price of 45 RMB. Jane walked away with it for 15 RMB. After that,
I made her my buying agent for all purchases.
After 45 minutes of shopping, we returned to where we had parked our
tricycle. On the ground where the tricycle had been, was the broken lock.
I should point out that at least 15 other tricycles were parked in the same
area. Most of them were in much better condition than ours. So why did
someone select ours and go to the trouble of breaking the lock to get it?
We assumed it was because we were white. Someone must have seen us park
the tricycle and then waited until we were out of sight. I'm not sure what
their thinking was. Maybe they thought that because we were white we could
afford to lose a tricycle, or maybe they thought that if the white people
chose to ride that particular tricycle, it must be a really good one.
There were several street vendors who had been working beside the tricycle
all day, but of course they claimed that they had not seen anything.
Everything Alan had been saying about French people, he was now saying
about Tibetans. We were not happy. The worst part was returning to the
rice shop and telling the owner and his wife that the tricycle they
depended upon for their livelihood was gone. We ended up forfeiting our
deposit of 400 RMB and paying them an extra 50. You'll notice that in the
above paragraph, I don't refer to the tricycle as "the" tricycle or
"the
rice shop's" tricycle, but as "our" tricycle. That is because
wherever
that tricycle is today, it belongs to Alan, Jane, and me. I guess renting
that tricycle wasn't such a bargain after all.