Please login to vote.
Thursday, 24 February 2011

Hiking in Eastern Tibet

We got on the frail old Chinese bus headed for the town of Litang — hailed as one of the highest towns in the world at 4,014 meters. The driver assured us that the bus was mechanically sound and that we should arrive in only eight hours. Steering around blind corners on the wrong side of the road, and around hairpin bends covered with thick ice was not the sort of adventure traveling my wife and I had in mind. At this rate we might be there in less than eight hours or maybe even not at all. Just as I was about to fall asleep, the bus driver slammed on the brakes and squealed with great delight. He hurried off the bus and eagerly picked up his newfound treasure from the road. He was one of the happiest drivers I’d seen in a long time and with a grin from ear to ear, he held up his prized possession – a dead wild pheasant. I was just glad something made us slow down, though not for long.

Icy Road From Behind

As we neared the top of the mountain pass, the air turned thin and colder. We continued scaling the cold side of the mountain and when we reached the peak at 4850 meters high (15900 feet), the Tibetan men on board yelled at the top of their lungs, ‘Victory to the gods!’ Everybody had their windows wide-open and cigarette smoke clouded the air while loud Tibetan music roared from the poor speakers. Inside was neither comfortable nor serene, but the scenery outside did more than compensate; snowy hilltops with grassy valleys at their feet made us feel chilled in a good way.

Icy Road

After 14 hours, we stepped off the uncomfortable and freezing cold bus. At an altitude of 4000 meters in late winter, the air is cold, dry and thin and only the howl of the wind across the high Tibetan plateau was there to greet us. We found a place to stay and the owner gave us a coil heater with just two cords sticking out of the end. Unsure of how to plug it into the wall, I asked her if she could help. She walked off and came back with a chopstick in her hand and began poking the wires into the wall socket. She was highly entertained when a spark or two flew out of the wall. As the town grew dark we gazed at the stars as if we had never seen them before and truly we had never seen them quite like that before. That evening’s temperature dropped well below zero and we buried our heads in to our sleeping bags to keep our faces warm. Sleeping was no easy feat; we woke up every two to three hours gasping for oxygen.

Top Of Pass Before Town

When we woke in the morning, we surveyed the dusty Tibetan town that lay before us, technically part of Sichuan province, but culturally Tibetan. In one sense, it was as if that bus ride was a time machine that took us 100 years back in time. The wild town seemed to be frozen in time and yet modernization was dragging Tibet fast into the 21st century—monks walking down the street talking on cell phones and driving SUV’s seemed incompatible.

Men, women and children walked by in their Tibetan wool gowns that keep them warm in the winter temperatures that can go as low as minus twenty degrees Celsius. The women wore their expensive and sacred coral jewelery and the men wrapped their long hair in red wool and carried long Tibetan knives for protection against bandits and wild animals.


Traditional Khamba Costume
Traditional Khamba costume at wedding

We began our hike up to the monastery that lay just out of town toward the north. We walked and walked as the cold and bitter wind of the high plateau struck our faces relentlessly. That was the first time I had ever experienced sleet being blown into my face while getting burnt from the high altitude intense sunlight at the same time. Carrying a heavy load on my back, the walk seemed endless and as we were breathless from hiking at that altitude we began coughing painfully. As we arrived at the Buddhist monastery we knew that it had all been worth the effort. Red robed monks milled around and flashed friendly smiles in our direction. The scenery from the top of the monastery was breathtaking. The dry and barren hills were sparsely covered with snow and ice and the sky was bright blue and clear.

 

 

View From Top


We sucked in the thin and cold dry air as the wind continued to beat against us. Sipping our ice-cold water, we began to cough again. As we walked down many steps from the peak of the monastery, a very unreserved and friendly monk invited us in for tea. He poured hot yak butter tea into a bowl and served us, encouraging us to drink it. One of the first things I realized about Tibetan people is that their hospitality has no equal. We thanked him for his kindness and took a sip. This was the first time I had ever tasted butter tea and it was the most disgusting drink I had ever had. I think the term “butter tea” is somewhat misleading. It really would be better described as salty butter soup; at least if this description is used, you don’t get such a shock when you first taste it.

The monk continued to top up our bowl, which means you can never drink it all, but is also his way of being a good host. He gave us some roasted barley flour and showed us how to mix the two together in the bowl with our hands. This made something like a yak butter barley flour ball of dough, which didn’t taste all that bad. We made a big mess of the floor and our hands trying to mix it right. He laughed in great amusement at our ignorance and we laughed with him at ourselves. We stayed for a while and took some photos and continued on our descent. Several monks invited us in for tea along the way; we accepted a couple of offers, but soon discovered several butter bowls of tea turns into several trips of butter bowels to the toilet. It wore off quickly, but we declined the many more friendly offers that came our way.

Monk At Top Of Monastery

We arrived back into town as it began to get dark and even colder and we found a small shop where we bought a bowl of noodle soup. The spicy broth with tasty noodles was one of the most simple and delicious meals I have ever enjoyed.

The openness, friendliness and hospitality of the Tibetan people was deeply moving. I guess in that rugged and harsh land people have learned to be hospitable because without each other no one could survive. Tibet is a cold place, but your heart never feels the chill with such deep warmth and hospitality.

©Evan Ulbricht

Published in interest
Saturday, 01 September 2007

Tibet: Visiting a Dying Culture

Visiting Tibet is like watching someone drown. They are calling out for help as you stand on shore not knowing how to save them. An elderly Tibetan woman grabs my wife’s hand stares intently in her eyes and sweeps her free hand across the sky, encompassing the mountains and says, “Tibet, Tibet.” A middle aged man in an outdoor market beckons me to sit next to him and for the next fifteen minutes pours out his life story and that of his beleaguered country, all the time anxiously looking out for anyone who may be eaves dropping.

Published in indigenous

Search Content by Map

Search

All Rights Reserved ©Copyright 2006-2019 inTravel Magazine®
Published by Christina's Arena, Inc.