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Asia Travelogue, part 6
(The Mountain)
The town of
hours to travel there by bus following the
was already late afternoon when we arrived, we were hoping to find a way to
keep moving west. We had gone as far as we could by bus. Beyond Lhatse,
the roads could not be traversed except by transport trucks and jeeps. It
soon became apparent that any tourist jeeps that might pass through would
already be carrying a full load of passengers. We had to look for other
options.
Unfortunately, it was at this point that Jane’s oxygen-starved brain gave
up any further attempt to produce rational thought. The various
suggestions and opinions she would offer over the next few days would
frighten me with their lunacy. Her first bright idea was that we should
travel the rest of the way on horseback. She did not seem dissuaded by the
following facts: 1) it took us six hours to travel 94 miles by bus and we
still had over 100 miles to go, 2) we would ultimately be traveling in
snow, 3) we had no camping equipment of any kind, 4) we saw only two horses
in this two-horse town and they were both busy pulling carts, and 5) I’ve
probably spent
more time in dentist chairs than I have in saddles. Alan and I responded
to Jane’s suggestion by saying something like: “Yes, traveling to
really going to do.”
The best plan we could come up with was to hitchhike. We were told that
there was a government checkpoint 4 km west of town. That is where we
would be required to present our triple-priced permits. We thought that it
would also be a good place to find transport trucks heading toward
luggage, while Alan and Jane walked to the checkpoint in search of a
truck
driver who would be willing to return to Lhatse to
get me and then take the
three of us to the vicinity of
I waited for an hour in the lobby, during which time I helped a Tibetan man
with his English by reading to him from my guidebook. Alan and Jane
returned and told me that they did not make it to the checkpoint. They
were not able to find a tricycle or tractor going that direction and Jane
became too cold to keep walking. It was already getting dark, so we
decided to spend the night in Lhatse and look for a
ride again the next
morning.
It was then that Jane had another brain flash. She and Alan had found a
cave while they were walking back to town. “Instead of checking into the
hotel, why don’t we spend the night in the cave?”,
Jane asked. Alan was
all for that because it meant saving the cost of a room. I, however, had
finally reached my limit. We had degenerated from being a budget traveler
to living like a yeti. Again, I pointed out that we did not have any
camping equipment -- not even a blanket. The night’s temperature would be
in the 40’s. Although the hotels we had been staying in might have been
starless, they at least had doors. Before the trip had started, I told
myself that I would “do everything without complaining or arguing” (Phil.
2:14) and would go along with whatever Alan and Jane wanted to do, but when
Alan asked me if I wanted to move to the cave, all I got out was “I --.”
My jaw then locked up and I started stammering like Bob Newhart until Alan
finally cut me off and said, “Okay, we’ll stay in the hotel.”
Still, Jane managed to bring a piece of the cave with her. She and Alan
had found a bird
at the mouth of the cave and Jane had brought it back with
her in a plastic bag. When I asked why, she said, “Because I’ve never had
a bird before.” I asked what she intended to do with it. “Keep it.” So
every couple of hours that night, I was awakened by the sound of the bird
hopping around in its new plastic home.
We got up early the next morning and went looking for a truck. We found
quite a number of them, but most were already filled with Tibetan
hitchhikers. We found two trucks with empty seats, but the drivers of both
refused to take us because they said it was against the law for them to
pick up foreign hitchhikers. This was surprising because the police in
Shigatse had told us that once we bought the triple
priced permit, we could
travel by jeep, truck, bicycle -- it didn’t matter. Otherwise, the permit
would be worthless. It turned out to be one more lie and the permit was
indeed worthless.
So now we were really stuck. If we kept asking truck drivers, we would
probably eventually find one who would disregard the law for the right
amount of money, but he probably would not have enough room for three
people. Finding a ride for the return trip might be even more difficult.
We agreed that we would have better luck if we would split up, but then we
couldn’t help but think about the fliers we had seen in various hotels
asking for information on three separate foreign hitchhikers who had
recently vanished. Alan tried to reassure us by telling us that those
foreigners were probably idiots. “Yeah, maybe so,” I thought, “but they
probably didn’t know they were idiots. What if I’m an idiot and I don’t
know it?” I didn't want cut-up pieces of my idiotic body to be found
scattered all along the
We admitted defeat and decided to start the long trip home. The bus for
Shigatse wouldn’t leave for another half-hour, so we
went for a walk to the
western edge of town where we had a nice view of snow-covered mountains
that were part of the Himalayan mountain range. We knew that just 100
miles beyond was the highest mountain in the world. That is how close we
had come. We had learned a hard lesson: it takes a mountain of money to
get to the mountain.
A little Tibetan boy and his sister were standing in front of a small mud
brick house. Alan and Jane gave them the bird. They seemed confused by
this and I don’t blame them. But who knows? Maybe we started a new
stereotype. From now on, when Tibetan beggar children hold out their hands
to foreigners, they might be asking for birds.
We had a quick breakfast and then boarded the bus for Shigatse.
Although
we had failed to reach our goal, we soon found ourselves in high spirits
simply because we were moving closer towards home with every mile.
We spent that night in Shigatse. When we were there
previously, a woman
had given Jane a contact name and number of a person who worked at the Army
Hotel at the
to get Jane on an army plane out of
commercial airline flight. Jane called from Shigatse
and confirmed that
she should be able to get on the flight for 800 RMB. The commercial flight
would have been 1200 RMB. By flying on the army plane, she could also
avoid paying the airport departure tax of 50 RMB. However, when she asked
if Alan and I could also ride the army plane, she was told that foreigners
were not permitted. We told the lady that we’d pay her an additional 200
RMB apiece if she could get us on the army plane and she immediately
agreed. Things were finally starting to turn our way.
The next day, we were back in
returning to the Banak Shol
Hotel, so we paid a little bit extra to stay in
a nicer hotel that had relatively clean sheets. That night, we also
managed to find a cheap restaurant where the owner was honest and friendly;
he even ran a beggar out of the restaurant when we asked him to. Yep,
things were looking up.
The next morning, Jane called the Army Hotel to confirm that we would be
able to get on the army cargo plane. She was told that it would be no
problem. However, in order to get on the army cargo plane, we would need
to spend a night in the Army Hotel. We had no objections to this because
the plane would be leaving in the morning and so it would be best to be at
a hotel near the airport. There was a commercial hotel at the airport, but
it probably gouged tourists.
We had some time to kill before the departure of the bus to
so we decided to visit Sera Monastery on the northern edge of town. It was
built in 1419. Four hundred monks now live there, many of them recently
ordained. The monastery is divided into two main colleges (dratsang),
Sera
Me and Sera Je.
As usual, when we tried to walk through the gate, monks started yelling,
“Hello!
Hello!,” which meant, “Money! Money!” So, we decided to
circumambulate the monastery using the path along the outside wall. When
we reached the rear, we realized it was getting late and we needed to be
heading for the bus station. We asked a pilgrim what was the quickest way
back and he pointed to an open doorway in the wall. We accepted his
direction as an official invitation on behalf of all Tibetan Buddhism to
enter the monastery.
Since we had not paid admission, we purposely avoided entering any of the
buildings, but we couldn’t resist stopping by the debating courtyard. It
was filled with what must have been at least a hundred red-robed monks
engaged in very animated debate. They were broken up into pairs. The
first monk would ask the second monk some deep religious question --
probably something like, “How many U.S. dollars will fit in one empty
butter bowl?” and then the second monk would have a limited amount of
time to answer before the first monk would clap his hands in front of his
face. Once again, I had to at least give them points for theatrics.
We caught our bus and arrived at
filed off the bus, all the civilians headed for the Airport Hotel. We
walked with a group of soldiers to the Army Hotel. The man at the desk
regretted to inform us that the Army Hotel had no vacancies. Also, there
were no more buses returning to
Airport Hotel. We were afraid we were about to be skewered, but the
Airport Hotel turned out to be reasonably priced. Our room was the nicest
we had had since leaving
and knobs had been removed from the bathtub for no apparent reason, but it
was nice to at least have a bathtub to look at. It made me feel cleaner
just imagining that tub filled with water.
There was a bigger problem: the man at the Army Hotel said he had not yet
confirmed that we could ride on the army plane. Excuse me? Hadn’t we been
told twice over the phone that we would have no problem getting on the army
plane? Yes, but you see, that was a lie. He knew that a “maybe” answer
wouldn’t have gotten us to the airport. Now that we were trapped there, he
could admit that there were still palms to be greased. He was quite
content to let us on the plane, but there was the small matter of the armed
PLA soldiers guarding it. In order for us to get by them, we would need
the cooperation of the “commander”. In other words, the bribe money would
have to be shared. The man at the desk said that he would discuss the
matter with the commander, but the commander was currently having dinner,
which would take two hours. A one-hour dinner is dinner. A two-hour
dinner is dinner and hookers. We were told to check back later.
In the meantime, we decided to find some dinner of our own -- the one-hour
kind. We walked to a village at the edge of the airport that was little
more than a clump of restaurants. It was all Chinese; we didn’t see a
single Tibetan. The street was filled with Chinese prostitutes, presumably
there to service the soldiers staying at the Army Hotel. We ate at a
restaurant where we were cheated and lied to. Later, we returned to the
Army Hotel and were informed that the commander was not being cooperative.
Either he didn’t like his dinner or he didn’t like his hookers. In any
event, there would be no army plane for us.
The next morning, we got up early and walked to the airport terminal in the
rain to try to purchase tickets on that day’s commercial flight. The
guidebook said that it was impossible to buy a same-day ticket, but we saw
no harm in trying. Standing in “line” for plane tickets turned out to be
quite similar to standing in “line” to purchase train tickets, except that
we had to stand outside in the rain. Luckily, we were the first to arrive,
so when the ticket window opened, Alan managed to get ahead of everyone
else, including several army officers. I handed him every last jiao (cent)
of Chinese money I had on me and he emerged with two tickets.
The man at the Army Hotel said that it still might be possible for Jane to
ride on the army plane, but he wouldn’t know until after the commercial
flight had left. It was risky, but we decided to leave Jane behind. Sure,
we might not ever see her again, but don’t forget that 400 RMB was at
stake. Enough said.
Alan and I boarded the plane for
seat, I felt two weeks’ worth of anxiety drain from my body. I was now
headed back towards civilization. Once again, I was seated away from the
window, but I sank gently into my seat and prepared for a comfortable
flight and a relaxing movie. It was Polly, a movie about a talking parrot.
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