Watching the sun set on Mount Everest was the highlight of China, and my seven days in Tibet. It took more planning, and money, than I’d anticipated, but for about $700 I was able to fly from Shangri-la to Lhasa and travel overland to Everest and then Kathmandu.
The trek across Tibet allowed me to realize why, in the film Seven Years in Tibet, Brad Pitt’s character calls the Himalayas, “A place rich with all the strange beauty of your nighttime dreams.”
It’s true. Walking in the shadow of Everest really was the closest I’ll ever come to walking on the moon. The cold, barren, rocky, cratered landscape was devoid of life and far removed from civilization.
The two-hour flight to Tibet from Shangri-La, in Yunnan Province, was filled with spectacular Himalayan vistas. Every time Claire or I saw a snow-capped peak we’d say, “Think that’s Everest?” It wasn’t, but each mountain poking through the clouds just looked so huge.
Our plane landed about 60 km outside Tibet’s capital Lhasa, because there’s no stretch of flatness any closer to the city in this mountainous landscape.
Beijing’s heavy military presence was noticeable immediately. Armed soldiers with riot shields stood guard at every entrance to the city’s old quarter, which is primarily Tibetan and more prone to rebelliousness against Han Chinese rule in Beijing, which has asserted a strong hand over the region and promoted a campaign of China-fication of Tibet. Chinese are given preferential tax breaks and business licenses to immigrate here. Chinese by law is the main language of all signage, despite Tibetan being the main language of use.
It’s also tragic to see Tibetans displaced in their own land.
Soldiers conducted periodic patrols and were stationed on rooftops throughout town. I saw armed officer peering down from atop a mosque. The police were stoic, moving only to march or to tell me to put my camera away. When I snapped a photo of them, one soldier grabbed took my camera and deleted the picture. I kept trying to take photos of the officers, and eventually found one uncharacteristically happy policeman who smiled for the camera and said: “Hello!”
“Hello,” I replied.
“Welcome to China!” the soldier said, brandishing a shield and standing with three other armed troops.
Despite the foreboding troops, Lhasa’s rich history and culture was enchanting. The 1,000-room Potala Palace is the former home of the Dalai Lama, set on a hill in the center of the city. The old town’s Tibetan quarter–known as the Barkhor–is a tight collection of Tibetan-style apartment blocks circled around Jokhang, the most sacred temple in Tibet. We woke at 6 am to watch hundreds of early-morning pilgrims chant Buddhist verses and bow prostrate while circling the structure. Afterward we walked across town to see the sun rise on Potala:
Visiting Potala and Jokhang were also slightly depressing experiences, due to that pervasive police presence. The palace is mostly closed off to the public, and the empty rooms once graced by former Dalai Lamas are reminders that the current Dalai Lama lives in exile in India. Merely owning a photo of him is illegal here and warrant for arrest. Jokhang temple, while restored in recent years for the sake of tourism, was nearly destroyed during the Cultural Revolution 30 years ago. Our guide tried to brush over this fact, insisting that the temple’s interior paintings dated to the 7th century when it is widely reported that they were destroyed.
The guide responded to my questions on the Cultural Revolution by saying: “We are not supposed to talk about that.” (She later said government spies are everywhere, even posed as monks.)
A monk at Ganden monastery, about 45 km outside Lhasa, told us that police will arrest any monks who hold photos of the Dalai Lama. Despite the government’s crackdowns on religion in Tibet, the people continue to practice Buddhism, hide photos of the Dalai Lama, and hang prayer flags on seemingly every hilltop. Here are some photos from Ganden, which is set atop a 4,600-meter-high hill. While trying to quickly climb it I blacked out several times, due to the low oxygen level at this elevation.
Master debaters
The debating monks of Sera monastery were only slightly more entertaining than the hordes of white foreign tourists (like me, I guess) who circled them with expensive cameras and eagerness to snap the perfect picture.
But why are they called the debating monks? Because, quite simply, they’re monks who debate. The monks pointed and slapped their hands together whenever they landed an argument against their debating opponent. They shouted at each other and groaned and laughed contemptuously.
Highway to Hell
The second half of our time in Tibet began with a near-death experience when the driver of our Land Cruiser decided to race his friend up a 4,794-meter-high mountain pass. My teeth clenched, our wheels’ skidded, and our driver laughed as we whizzed up the switchbacks and hugged the corners of sheer cliffs. The laughing stopped, and turned to road rage, when a Chinese minivan driver refused to let us pass, cutting off our vehicle. Our Tibetan driver rolled down his window and cursed out the Chinese driver, only to then have the Chinese driver speed forward and cut us off. Our driver slammed the breaks and nearly hit a small cement barrier that would have flipped us over the edge of the cliff.
At the top of the mountain pass, our drivers skidded to a halt and cursed each other out for 15 minutes. The scene was tense, and no doubt some ethnic tension between our Tibetan driver and the Han Chinese driver fueled the fight. Far below us was Yamdrok-Tso Lake. It’s a pretty lake, to be sure, but it didn’t calm our rattled nerves. Claire instructed me to have a word with our guide and driver. Which I did, and which did no good, because back on the road we were promptly racing other drivers once again.
Second-in-line to God
We lived.
And we spent the night in Shigatse, Tibet’s second city and the traditional home of the Panchen Lama, the second-in-charge to the Dalai Lama. When the last Panchen Lama died, the Chinese government physically apprehended his Tibetan successor and instead appointed the son of a Communist Politburo member to be the new Panchen Lama.
We happened to see the 19-year-old “fake” Panchen Lama as he was entering the city’s monastery with three convoys of armed soldiers. Again I tried to take a photo. Again a police officer — this one undercover in civilian clothes — seized my camera and deleted the pictures of the Panchen Lama and his military escort.
After two days’ driving, we finally saw Everest.
As we peaked a 5,200-meter-high mountain pass, there, circled by clouds, was the roof of the world. Our Land Cruiser off-roaded down a rugged mountain pass — and this was serious off-roading, with 4-foot deep ditches and 60-degree pitches. We were all gripping our seats and clenching our teeth. We arrived at Rongpu Monastery in time to see the sun set on Everest.
Camp was a large field of tents, the homes of other tourists here to see Everest, and also of climbing groups who would be heading up the mountain. Our tent was surprisingly cozy, and we were each personally tucked in by a friendly Tibetan woman who lived in the camp at the mountain’s foot.
I woke in the night to pee beneath the most brilliant sky of stars. Everest was framed by lightning bolts. I was pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t still asleep in the tent, dreaming.
In the morning, we walked to Base Camp and watched the sun rise on Everest, two hours before the sun’s rays hit us in the valley.
Descending the world’s top
As we sped off to the Nepali border, Everest and several other of the world’s tallest peaks remained visible behind us for several hours. We dropped 3,000 meters in elevation over the course of the day.
The next day our driver dropped us at the border with Nepal. He did not receive a tip.
The short “Friendship Bridge” separates Nepal and China. On the Chinese side, armed Chinese soldiers stand erect behind bullet-proof shield. On the Nepali side, troops chatted amiably with the local merchants and let their rifles hang at ease over their shoulders. The Chinese side was tense, regimented, and the authority of Beijing thousands of miles away could still be felt.
Crossing the bridge into Nepal, I felt at ease immediately. While the Chinese checkpoint authorities had thoroughly searched our bags and inspected our guidebooks (which would be confiscated if Taiwan was labeled as an independent nation and not a part of China), the Nepali police didn’t even notice when we waltzed past the immigration office without getting entrance visas.
