Closing Report -- Tibet Trek 2018 (19-23 June)

There is no real ending.  It's just the place where you stop the story.  ~Frank Herbert

With just one glance back, the yaks lumbered out of our lives forever

This final blog entry covers the final four days of our trip.  I didn't continue my dedicated journaling beyond our last day in mountains.  The mountains were my Tibet.

19 June:

Breaking camp

Gary looking cool just slightly below 15,000'

I shed more than one tear as we broke and packed camp and said goodbye to our camp crew, yak men and yak.  It felt like a forever goodbye to really safe, good and kind friends.

Back in Lhasa (~ four hour van drive -- stopping for lunch en route):  we checked back into the Kyi-chu for showers (it took more than one to get clean), sink-washed some clothes, napped and re-emerged for a quick dinner.

Note: This return to Lhasa is a day early to accommodate our missed visit to the Potala.

20 June:

Drepung

View from the Drepung Assembly Hall

In the morning we visited Drepung Monastery, which is built into a mountainside on what was once a remote site just west of Lhasa center.  In these times, the monastery with its many chapels and universities seems to sprout in a series of white cones (the word drepung is translated as rice heap -- referencing the piled appearance of the white buildings), from its verdant green garden root, which is in turn ringed by the urban bustle of ever-expanding Lhasa.  Once among the world's largest monasteries, now only about 300 monks out of the pre-invasion resident population of more than 7,000 remain. 

In the afternoon we cruised the now somewhat familiar streets of the Tibetan Quarter of Lhasa -- returning to the Barkhor for a few more photos, while Gary, Tinsley and Dharma worked to get our Potala visit back on the itinerary.

21 June:  We convened after a hotel breakfast with the intent of visiting the Dropenling Handicraft Center -- a small and hard-to-locate collection of shops within a shop, promoting the handmade crafts of Tibetans.  This shop is the retail front for a free-trade and handicraft development initiative.  But the Dropenling excursion will have to wait as there is word we can visit the Potala Palace.  

Potala Palace

View of Potala from the street

If you think back weeks now, you will recall our first trip to the Potala failed when the gentleman coordinating our tickets suffered a stroke.  It would seem simple enough to get a refund for those tickets and reschedule -- but in the Tibet Autonomous Region with its strong arm Chinese Government, nothing is easy.  Once our van drops us outside of the palace, our guides begin negotiations with Potala security, ticketing and government representatives to re-purchase the right to purchase our entry tickets (seriously, they had to buy the tickets to buy the tickets).  Complicating things, our permit, which had to be presented to negotiate the purchase and entry, no longer jibed with our itinerary (literally, we weren't where we were supposed to be).  Over nearly two hours and hundreds of dollars (paid in Yuan) on top of our already purchased, non-refundable, beyond-use-date tickets, our guide team finally got us in (to include a scrutinizing wait at the palace threshold to resolve yet another our permit-appearance disagreement).

The Potala Palace is an absolute landmark in Lhasa.  If ever you have seen a picture of the city, you have seen a picture of this imposing structure.  It is a true testament to its size and grandeur that even today, surrounded by the hub of urban Lhasa, it rises above the streets breathtakingly large and beautiful.  The Potala was the home to every Dalai Lama from the fifth to the fourteenth (winter residence only following the completion of Norbulingka in the 18th Century).  The magnificent fortress-like structure includes more than a thousand rooms (only a couple of dozen are open -- leaving many to believe there may be great damage or even evident theft in those unseen).   Photos of the open chambers and temples of the Potala are expressly prohibited -- and there are security cameras at every turn and twist to enforce the rule. 

Bottom line: The Potala Palace was stunning -- even given the crowd, high security, unsettling mix of tourists and pilgrims, and many (many) sealed rooms.  Stunning, but for me, not spiritual.  The uninhabited museum-like atmosphere, gross commercialization, graft and bribery necessary to gain entry and in-your-face Chinese revisionist history of the 1950s liberation of Tibet housed there made my heart ache.

Forget this revisionist history -- our brains may be oxygen deprived, but they're not dead!

22 June: It's a pre-dawn wake-up and breakfast before we're hustled back to Gongkar airport for our return flight to Chengdu.  Back in Chengdu and re-installed at the Jin-Jiang Hotel by mid-afternoon, we make plans to meet for our farewell dinner (Gary, Karl, Cliff and me).  It was a fabulously fun upscale hot-pot dinner where we totally entertained the restaurant staff with our ordering, mimed communication and awkward handling of the cooking process (duck beaks have to cook how long?).

23 June: Our return trip is long, long, long (more books, more movies, more lousy inflight meals).  But, thanks to the International Dateline, we arrive back in Denver the same date we depart China.  We are safely home to Munro and Illy in Santa Fe before midnight.

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Now can I say, Tibet was the trip of a lifetime?  Still too much world to see.  A trip of my lifetime, indeed.  Going there felt important to me.  My Tibet itch is scratched.  I wish we could have visited 20 years ago, glad we didn't wait two more . . .

Today, due to the massive Chinese population transfer, the nation of Tibet truly faces the threat of extinction, along with its unique cultural heritage of Buddhist spirituality. ~ The Fourteenth Dalai Lama

Every Great Trek Must Come to an End (18 June)

 You are not in the mountains.  The mountains are in you.  ~John Muir

On the downhill

We awake this morning to bitter cold and gray, melancholy skies.  OK, I suppose at least a part of the chill and edging sadness is a reflection of my emotions.  This is our last full trekking day.  Tomorrow we'll be back to the world of roads and wires.  Tired and ready for a shower, a part of me is happy -- and knowing these days never will come again, a part of me already longs for the mountains we are soon to leave behind. 

No path, only rocks

Are we crossing again?

Continuing our descent from our highest camp, we strike a slow procession down a crazy-rugged trek of yak path, boulder hopping and river crossing  (back and forth and back again).  As we move along (as Gary would say, "Going down, except for when we are going up."), we meet a herder couple moving their yak uphill, single shepherds (mostly women) grazing sheep, a single fat marmot racing to its burrow -- and lower still, again, the Caterpillar hunters.  The day was as all preceding days on the trip: quiet, thoughtful, challenging and sense enriching.  I have no expectation of returning to the mountains of Tibet. I am, however, so grateful to have trekked where so few have gone before. The place, in its high solitude splendor, is almost impossible to describe (and I fear my words can never do it justice).  Maybe it is the place of Shangri-la!  Certainly it is enchanted.

Tinsley became one of my favorite walking partners

Today we stopped taking diamox. We seem to have managed life above 15,000 feet for the last two weeks without a problem and are happy for the diamox -- perhaps happier still to end the twice a day pill ritual.  Tonight’s camp is at 14,800 feet — and the air feels surprisingly oxygen rich. 

In my journal tonight I note what I’ll most miss from the trail:

Om mani padme hum

*reciting mantras to even my breath and steel my determination when the going got tough

*admiring the athletic grace of my husband as he treks

*going to sleep to the natural white noise of a stream, creek or river

*being humbled by towering mountains — and reminded of what a very small cog I am in a very short lifetime in the giant history of the world

*the absence of the 24-hour news cycle and talking heads

*the constant discovery of new (to me) flowers, birds and wildlife

*the chanting from the kitchen tent in the mornings and evenings

*Our gentle yak men and their yaks

The photographer

Our yak team

Senior yak man

Taking a picture of my favorite yak

Dharma and our fabulous camp staff

Gary arriving at Camp Nine

I won't miss the rocks and boulders

Sha Shing la (17 June)

You're nearly there!

It was with flagging energy and a creeping feeling of wistfulness as our days in the mountains waned that I wrote this journal entry:

Yaks in the morning and Camp Seven

Ugh, more boulders?

The lunar-like landscape approaching the Sha-Shing la

It's mostly a long slog to cross the Sha Shing La at 18,000 feet. Lots of boulder hopping on a typical mountain day: sunny or cloudy (ha), windy and cold.  Approaching the pass, Cliff and I are right behind the camp staff.  Gary and Karl are behind us, and then our yaks and yak men.  Usually, the direction to an actual pass crossing is clearly defined by multiple cairns and the flapping of many prayer flags.  This pass is hard to distinguish . . . only as we reach the highest point do we see two cairns -- one small, the other large (constructed on a boulder).  Cliff and I head for the larger of the two and add our own stones to mark our arrival and give direction to the travelers who may follow.  As a group, we adorn the cairn with our prayer flags -- they are the only prayer flags on this pass . . .

At the Sha Shing la, 18,000'

Looking back at our prayer flags

Yaks at the pass

Beautiful lake, but no place to camp

And because our route today is based on a map recon, we find that in actuality our planned campsite for tonight is not possible (area around the lake is flooded), so we keep moving . . ..  Finally Dharma and the team approve a camping site along a stream (we always have to be near water for cooking and cleaning) below the pass (16,900 feet). It is our highest and coldest camp. The surrounding mountains 21-23k+ are mostly formed from glacial moraine. The yaks have found some grass along the stream that fronts our tent.  After tea and wash water, we all take refuge in our tents, trying to stay warm (it has snowed throughout the day).  The camp is quiet now except for the sounds emitting from the kitchen tent as Dharma prepares dinner (often he chants as he prepares our meals -- a wonderfully calming and grounding sound).  

Camp Eight

No real wildlife of which to speak today. We heard the marmots and saw a single Himalayan Griffon vulture playing in the winds high above the jagged mountain peaks.  Tonight starts the beginning of the end of the trek and Gary has asked us to bring together our tips for the camp crew. 

A quiet sunset just below the Sha Shing la

On this trek we have seen not another trekking group (of any composition) and only a couple of foreign (non-Chinese) tour groups in Lhasa and larger outlying monasteries since we've been in Tibet.  The rather mercurial application of new rules, which apply only to foreigners, put guides and their work here at risk. Gary has learned his scheduled trip to K2 in the late summer has been cancelled (for example) because the Chinese are not allowing foreigner access to the mountain via Tibet.

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“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” -Mark Jenkins

The Bear Went Over the Mountain (16 June)

The bear went over the mountain, The bear went over the mountain, The bear went over the mountain
To see what he could see

To see what he could see, To see what he could see

The other side of the mountain, The other side of the mountain, The other side of the mountain
Was all that he could see

~Children's song sung to the tune of For He's a Jolly Good Fellow (lyricist unknown) 

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Although we are not crossing the Sha Shing la (la = mountain pass) today, this children's tune is my "ear worm."  Whether from an oxygen-deprived brain or not, it's where the 100 billion or so neurons of my gray matter decide to find traction today.

Our tent surrounded by yaks, snow and mountains

It snowed in our little valley overnight and we awoke to a bitterly cold and rather gray morning. In preparation for tomorrow’s pass crossing, the planned activity for today is a boulder/rock hopping ascent to the mouth of one of the passes we will not take on our way back to Lhasa. This will be our final exploration hike in the Nyenchen Tangha Range before we do see the other side of the mountain(s).  

 

Gary assures me today is good training

Oh great, more rock hopping

More than any other day, this hike seems to tax my legs and get my heart pump quads screaming for oxygenated blood.  It is a boulder-hopping adventure that Gary assures me will help to prime the pump for tomorrow's ascent (oh, sure).  Understanding the DNA advantage of the Tibetans, I have to wonder how long it would take (if ever) for a foreigner to function at so high a fitness level at these altitudes. Although we are relatively quick and nimble (Cliff more so than I), we still arrive at each rest smiling but breathless.  And the rocks seem never to end.  For me boulder/rock hopping is a little like typing.  As long as I am just doing, with little thought, I pretty much cruise along.  It is my pause (to look at the keys or consider my path) that causes me to falter and break rhythm.  I'm sure there's a lesson here somewhere (probably about over-thinking things), but my child's-rhyme brain just can't bring it forward today.

 

Trekkers and Guide cold at the head of the pass not taken

Throughout the day we’ve experienced all the variance of high mountain weather: Wind, rain, sleet, snow and sunshine that seamlessly transition one to the other in the space of minutes.

Gary's poses a funny question to Cliff and me today: Do we sleep with a wall of bags and gear between us? I guess it's a fair question since we are the only tenting couple.  So, it may be interesting to share with you our tent logistics as trekking couple.  We’ve come to experience and understand that most trekkers (even married ones) trek without a partner . . .

Our tent is a two-person "Eureka!" tent.  Quite honestly, we believe this is the largest tent we ever have shared.  We line our duffels on either side of us, between our respective sleeping mats and tent walls -- creating a sort of double bed of mattress pads and sleeping bags in the middle.  Our packs, we lean against the head of our tent to create tension and keep the top wall from nudging our heads on rainy and/or windy nights.  Cliff strings a clothesline across the top of the tent (just below the ceiling if you will), which is where we dry the few items we hand wash most days (mostly underwear and handkerchiefs/bandanas), along with a small tent light and a catch bag for watches and headlamps. 

Cliff resting at the end of another trekking day

And what is the fascinating pillow talk of a trekking couple on day twelve of the trek?  The same thing it is on most nights beyond the first two or three:  What is the first meal you want when we get home?  I have a lot of ideas . . . but Cliff's craving is the one that sticks.  We want Chama burgers -- cooked rare, topped with bacon & blue cheese, with a side of truffle fries!!

The Valley of Tibetan Hospitality (15 June)

Cold and gray morning at Camp Six

Last night the winds howled and pelting rain played our tent rain fly like a tightly stretched drum head.  We awoke this morning to an angry sky, cold blowing wind and new snow in the mountains framing our pass.  Setting off up the valley, I felt breathless and maybe a little unanchored by Gary's seeming aloofness.  Truly though, at this level of adventure travel (traversing now an unknown ascent to an unknown pass) we all are discovering the route at roughly the same rate.  Gary, never one to spoon feed us the trek, has a funny way of describing any day's route.  He basically tells us to expect to be going up . . . except for when we are going down.  So whereas some trekking guides try to lay out each day's trek in as great a detail as possible, Gary's approach keeps us focused and present -- rather than leaning into the next dicey water-crossing or wicked climb.  It takes some getting used to, but all in all his manner and style sets us up to be open to opportunities along the way.  And today was all about opportunities -- and the beauty of traveling in a very small group. 

We're crossing where?

As we walked upward, Gary and Dharma asked local herders about the best point at which to cross the swollen stream flowing (and at points roaring) through our approach.  Approaching a herders' camp --note the (tethered) barking dog and yak hair double-wide (yak hair tent established over a legacy stone foundation), Tinsley engaged a young herder, who like many Tibetans we see and meet in the mountains, was curious about our group.  After a short conversation, the herder confirms our crossing is at an old blue truck ahead; and then invites us into his tent to observe the traditional (nomadic) way living of in this season when they are grazing their yaks in the valley.  

Tibetan double wide

The tent was one large room where his wife was making fry bread on the stove (fueled by dried yak dung patties) in the center.  Along the tent walls hung large and colorful Tibetan tapestries -- for warmth (and I think for decoration).  The woman's bed was a warm nest of Tibetan carpets stacked along the stone wall closest to the door.  We sat on the ground just below it.  On the other side of the tent and further back, was the man's stone bed.  At the very back of the tent (opposite the tents flaps we passed thorugh to enter the tent), was a Buddhist altar with offerings of food and money, a butter lamp and customary images.    

In the herders' tent

Under the constant eye and doting attention of our hosts we were served butter tea (in cups which were topped off with each sip until we stopped sipping or gently put a hand over the top to decline the refill).  Curious about butter tea, I had declined trying it in Lhasa in hopes I would have an opportunity like this.  So, what does butter tea taste like?  First of all, not like tea at all.  Rather like a slightly salty broth.  By now, I suppose my palate has become somewhat accustomed to yak, which I find much less gamey than say moose, or even less strong than

Gary and the kitten

domestic lamb.  And while I've read some westerners barely can get through a swallow without gagging, I found the butter tea quite tasty -- and a welcoming warmth (along with their stove) on this very chilly day.  As our visit progressed, our hosts also invited us also to try dried yak and yak cheese.  I imagine the hospitality was a combination of their kind hearts and genuine curiosity, because they seemed to study our faces with each morsel we tried.  

At the very end of our visit, Gary (quite smitten with the resident ratter) signaled to Cliff and Karl that it would be fine to ask about taking photos.  Not only were the man and his wife receptive, the man even accepted Tinsley's iPhone and took a picture of all of us in the tent -- iPhone knowledge was there, no instruction required.  

Yak fuel patties drying (making these is women's work)

Leaving the herders' tent, we walked on and finally located the blue truck and our stream crossing (a lovely stone bridge of sorts).  As is normal, the camp staff carrying our lunch passed us (with smiles and beautiful even breaths -- I am so jealous for the Tibetan DNA) mid-morning. They unpacked our lunch above the stream in a field littered with yak patties (I am so used to sitting next to/on yak poo that it hardly registers any more).  

Yak yogurt

In short order we again attracted the attention of local yak herders.  As the camp crew passed us plates of bread, cheese and vegetables (last night's leftovers is the norm), the herders crowded around amused by the process and menu.  Dharma and Gary asked the herders if they had yak yogurt, which they would be willing to sell.  The women in the group wordlessly walked away, and within minutes reappeared carrying a large pot of fresh yogurt.  Gary bought the whole thing.  It was creamy, tart and tangy and what we didn't eat was transferred to our lunch thermos.  For the next three days, the yogurt showed up at every meal (we made cream soup with it, topped pancakes with it, and used it to calm particularly spicy curries). 

Camp Seven (tonight) is at 16,600 feet. From our camp site we can see two valleys leading to passes.  One we'll explore tomorrow, and the second we will follow in two days time to cross (we hope) to Sha-shing pass.  

Arriving at Camp Seven

Our yak men camp with us each night, unsaddling and releasing their yaks to graze each afternoon when we arrive at camp.  I constantly am impressed by the calm confidence all three yak men display in dealing with these giant beasts. And I must say, I find yak to be much more docile (and less scary) than the cattle in the fields across England last summer.

Wooden yak saddles stacked at camp while the yak graze

Back Trekking (14 June)

Life isn't about finding yourself.  Life is about creating yourself.  ~George Bernard Shaw
 

Mysterious yak head below the Gurchung Gompa bridge

It's bed tea at 8:00, wash water at 8:30, and breakfast at 9:00. To adjust for our alternate pass crossing (the Sha-shing pass), today we’ve got to back track (back trek) to a point before the Nam-tso southernmost head washing point to access a different valley that will lead to our new crossing of the imposing mountain range on our right flank.  We pack before breakfast and wait for the camp crew to break camp, before setting out first on wheels, then on foot. 

Lunch on the move

At about noon, the vehicles (we in the Toyota Land Cruiser and camp crew in utility truck) stop for a quick lunch before parting ways (we on foot again) along the mountain drainages in search of our new valley pointing us toward the Sha-shing pass. There are lots of water crossings (one where our Tibetan guide actually constructs an impromptu rock step to help me span a giant first step). 

Flat walking (wow!)

Water crossings get serious

After about two hours of walking, the clouds that have been following us all morning arrive with a gust of wind and the delivery of icy rain and sleet.  Luckily our yak men (and yaks) have caught up with us at this point and after a quick conversation (theirs) with a local herder, we are invited into the herder’s hut to wait out the worst of the storm.  Nordrum (the hut owner) spoke no English; however kindly hosted our pause with amused curiosity.  The hut was one room (we were too polite to take photos) that served as his kitchen, bedroom and storage area.  It was living distilled to all that was necessary for the inhabitant -- calming in its simplicity, comforting in its absolute utility.

Camp Six

The view from our tent (Nam-tso on the horizon)

We closed on our campsite rather early -- chilled and damp from the intermittent rain and cool winds that followed us the entire route.  There are still lots of questions about what happens next.  Relaxing into the unknown is my focus.  Camp Six is situated within a web of braided streams, and provides stunning views of the mountains behind us and Nam-tso from the front of our tent (15,700 feet).