June 18, Uruumqii
I could open with the arrival, the rainstorm,
even how the world laughs at you for being small. I am followed by people even
after I've begun to feel quite worthless. I don't care what happens to me
anymore. How much money have I spent? This attempt to fly across China is too
costly. I will have to relax and camp as often as possible. The airport hotel
costs five times what I'd pay in town, but lacks even a decent supply of hot
water. The people here are pleasant, especially the young ones. The older and
middle-aged smile too, but some feel as if you may be lost. Looking youthful is
a good way to cover up being a burnt out loser. How different this writing will
always be from prose. I am too selfish and will not bother answering why I am
here: I'm here to take pictures and go for a long bicycle ride. A few days ago.
A few days ago I flew to Hong Kong. About the only interesting thing
that happened to me there was a light moment when I forgot my air tickets in
the agent's office and had to hurry back to get them. Also found a great little
Tibet phrasebook I can use. My life is passed and all my work is worthless.
Soon I too will be forced into forgetful, useless illiteracy as the years add
up and the discouragement and wasting of time conspire with all the big
peoples' opinions, and combine with all the small peoples' opinions until the
act of lifting a pen to paper will be silenced with nothing more than the
feeling that it is a ridiculous humiliation, and nobody wants you to do it and
nobody will read it, and somebody else will get to be big and live a much more
comfortable life full of respect instead of the vanity you might squeeze out of
your own hopes. I am burnt out, and maybe it is a relief. Now it doesn't matter
what I do or say, how I live or work. I can write nothing and I can write
drivel. Nobody will care that I am spoiled and self-conscious, so I can stop
here.
The silence was arrested by the windy whir of a jet engine,
starting up to idle. Lying in bed in the airport hotel, because it rained too
much in the evening to allow the plane to take off. I realize that my age
allows me, at least, to outgrow impatience. I always retain the anxiety about
running out of money, however. It is a good reason to die. But I'll keep living
for today am even thankful to pay too much for this hotel room because I had a
chance to watch television last night and it was the first time I have seen any
Russian t.v. Far west China is unusual. The city seem as new and as disordered
in its development as many others. I always imagine a roomful of people who
don't know what they are doing trying to make decisions. Like the Duma they
show on t.v., as if you imagine each man has his own idea quite contradictory
and tunnel visioned away from reality. I don't care. But the thing to really
try not caring about is to forget about whether or not you'll get-in
established with high snotty fees working like a fancy bauble for some company
or book, taking pricey photos. I want to write but there can't be a real break
for me. They expect me to go home, the big ones who show their movies at Cannes
who know how it must all turn out for my complete rejection and defeat. I don't
want to go home. Canada is too cold. I'd rather stop writing and become a
vegetable illiterate than go home. I could leave Kate, too, if I had some power
over my need to feel her in my arms. I don't think I love anyone past the first
moments. China is such a stupid place. Everyone here will always be retarded
and flustered. Easier to pay people to do nothing than figure out how to do
something especially when not so many know best what to do. The modern world
comes to China, apparently, but not without making a godawful mess.
In
Chengdu I stayed at the Traffic Hotel, a name somehow precisely appropriate, at
least judging by the sick smoke and dust smothering the place on my second day.
I was told that there is no place I can get an official permit to enter Tibet,
but the upside is that most of the locals to whom I spoke, all of them, in
fact, raised no objections to my plan. Nothing. The sun streams into this empty
place. I am getting too old now and people's judgements either hurt more, or
they imagine themselves flustered by my actions since they imagine their youth
lacks the room, the experience to give any judgements. Who cares. The young
women in China seem either cold and mean or youthful and open to suggestions.
The world makes all kinds of people, there cannot be any empty-headed political
finger-pointing here. I am only thinking that you can only make something out
of the world when you really believe you need to. Whole careers are made of
single simple avowals, testaments, claims and stakes to believe in one thing,
one little thing. What remains of my silly belly button but the faith that I am
a writer? Promising myself to begin creating again - the universal refrain of
all failures and half-wits. It's easy to be pointed at and mocked. Some girls
still love and want me.
But my mind is agitated by the wrong things. I
suppose I should keep to the point here, and decide only to write of the trip I
am on to Tibet. What else is there? A little focus will do me good. I missed
taking a few sexy photos the other day in Chengdu and got statues instead. The
first place the pedaling cyclist dropped me off was the mainstreet massage
parlor. Instead of sleeping with a girl, I walked all the way around to the
Traffic hotel and met two Americans also lodged in the same room. I blabbed a
lot. They were working or I guess studying here. The restaurant we choose was
pretty fine. Sichuan cooking really does have excellent variety, and that salty
tofu with its subtle after-taste, enticing, but bland, was good enough to
contrast the hotter chili sauce dishes. Gourmet food seems made of being able
to balance contrasts and compliments on the palate.
Where to go after
Chengdu? But what did I actually do in Chengdu before I left? Wandered to the
university to see it. Old and big, but in need of something new. China often
exudes its aura of stagnancy in a placid way, as if nobody dare expect anything
more, that life goes on normally and what's the point of trying to change? Then
I visited a park to honor Xao Tue, poetess and author of ninety poems during
the Tang dynasty. Since nobody knows what she looks like, all the statues make
here seem like a rosebud fairy cross between a goddess and a coy thing, but one
who so obviously looks like she knows!
My first flight out of Chengdu
was on a plane full of men. Maybe three or five women besides the people
working on the plane - but only the ones hanging around the hotel tourist
agencies. Nobody to talk to in Uruumqii, not like I blabbed to the Americans!
Man, they must think I am a zombie. But did I manage to enlighten them on a few
things!
......I will not even bother rereading the nonsense about... It
was written after I was buried by the excuse for a body called a ghost. People
believe in most things probably because they haven't - none of us do - any
reason to wonder what is going on. What is really happening is mingled with the
energy and the ideas of what men try to do, women believe too... the motion,
the easier minded will claim (a pause before the last clause - take heed!) and
it is not so hard to see, and they believe we are quite blameless for falling
into place, like a logical declension, gears with oil on them pop into spot.
Wind back and decide what to do. What is really happening isn't the same as
what people want, though to remind each other about being content is a sign of
civil communion that semi-detached Westerners have forgotten. Neighbors are
neighbors on an old Chinese street. Here in Kashgar... the rainstorm finally
abated and I got up to a blindingly sunny morning and the jet took us over the
high mountains... After the icy peaks, the rivulets streamed into a dry basin
and the place changed - all brown gray and green in memory... Sand-dune waves
and moon rocks. All below. Gardens near Kashgar and the plane came down among
them.
Shared a taxi to town and this is my second day at the Seman
Hotel. Happy now. Looking ahead to the trip. Bike put together nicely. The
whole thing will be a smooth one if I can manage the pedal up to the mountains.
The Kunlun mountains are not so far south of here, about 300 ks or so. I
estimate about three days to crawl up to the first very high pass. Before I get
to the foothills, there are several Xinjiang villages to visit. The desert will
be on my left, to the East. the mountains ought to appear after one day if the
air is clear. I better buy some slippers at Yecheng - Karkalik, the last big
town at the foot of the Kunlun mountains. Kashgar is a fabulously old town.
Half of the place is made of mud and straw plastered homes. It is a lot like
Morocco in my memory. Lots of big hotels here. This town is a real trade hub
for the region. As I may have mentioned, it was actually good luck that it
rained. The plane view was clear and the temperature on the ground was blazing
under a deeply azure heaven. You can see a long way through such air. Then the
town appears after a long avenue past a country village made of detached mud
houses... Many new Chinese buildings, a few anyway - not so many as the rest of
China... The hotels are some of the nicer large new buildings.
I think
people come in from a long way off to do business here. Kyzigstan - or should I
correct my ignorance - Kyrgyzstan lies only 130 kilometers to the north...
traders also fly in, I think from Pakistan and who knows, maybe even India. Of
course much or nearly all business is local - I think there are many farms and
gardens near the city. They grow lovely green seedless grapes around here. I
can stock up on raisins and dried apricots. I'll try to visit a silk carpet
factory, if I can find out where they are. I may need to postpone my ride till
Tuesday if I want to find them. At least I can see the weekly market tomorrow,
and that will be worth a few pictures. I haven't got many photos yet, but did
some more test pics with my new 70-210 lens... Probably everything will turn
out okay. I've got to visit a few sites at least. The ride through the country
is more than sites in town though. If I can get a few more slides of local
people, that should do it. By my estimation, K2 is at least ten days ride and
walking. I'll be able to walk only if I can find a safe place to lock-up my
bike, however...
Yesterday I met a nice fellow from Singapore named
Paul, and he is a good guy because we enjoyed wandering about and seeing the
bazaar. We also walked around the Idkah mosque. The standard plot involves
trees and paths leading to a prayer platform which is at least as wide as the
ones in Arabia. Arabic writing is all over the signboards and people are really
available in all shapes and sizes... Uigurs and many others, Uzbeks and Kazhaks
and Tajiks and Kirghiz people. Some live here and others are travellers like
me. I think Kashgar is rather inured to the tourists no, they even serve
Western breakfasts. Lunch-time I'm eating five shish-kebabs and soup and the
local bread, which is best spiced with sesame and caraway seeds. So tasty! The
chef sprinkles on chili, coriander or cumin and caraway seeds on the
shish-kebabs. Chinese food is good here, too. It's hot, but I'm comfortable.
After the mosque and its skinny leaved and branched crowd, went on to the
bazaar street selling gold jewelry - you are quick to see gold is very much
expected by girls around here, and they like to visit the bazaar to have their
24 karat pieces boiled in methyl hydrate. I should buy some gifts here and mail
them, or carry them all the way home.
I've written several postcards,
and the email is readily available in these big centers. I can send letters to
everyone again later, after my ride to the Abkah Hoja tomb, which ought to keep
the locals in wonderment about why anybody would like to spend so much money to
see it. The carpet factory is something I'll be really looking for. One thing
that left me wondering about the local and Muslim culture in general... is why
do people, especially old fellows like to gather round the hot and dusty front
of the mosque instead of lounging around the garden. Inside only a few people
lay around the place, including one very white Russian looking fellow, a hobo.
Four fellows sat in one of the carpeted gazebos negotiating a deal of
somekind... The women come in all kinds. Women working in the hotel tend to
wear lovely skirts and above the knee, and they are real cuties, too. Other
women on the street wear brown shawls over their faces and I wonder how they
see through them not to trip... Most ladies are uncovered, and I only saw one
Chinese-looking lady, through, riding a bicycle. Men in the bazaar are busy
with hand-making cloth caps, and it's as if someone, a sharp salesman or
distributor of movies, brought in the traditional Sicilian or Grecian fashion.
Hats are useful in the afternoon sun, and these ones are very well made! I can
mail two to my brothers...
I've spent nearly 1000 yuan in my first
week, so I must cut that to two hundred per week for the next several if I want
to have enough to come home at the end of my trip. Can always have some money
wired to Lhasa, etc... Of course, while camping my expenses can be as little as
10 to 20 yuan each day... This morning I joined four ladies for breakfast at
John's Cafe. Good but cool eggs. The women were curious about my trip, one from
Finland, a very lovely lady, too... teaching in China for a year and going
home; another lady, middling age and sexy like an ABC, living in California and
I could not resist teasing her about her Jane Fonda accent! Two women from
England and maybe the second from another commonwealth place. They went off to
the tomb and a carpet factory. Maybe they can give me directions. Last night
looked at the Russian consulate situated at the back corner of the Seman hotel
grounds. Built of bricks and inside there is a large mural showing a bizarre
scene of ancients worlds, Greco-Roman, on the left, or western side of the
mural, and it transists abruptly to a panorama in a city like Kashgar,
depicting lush local women barring their lovely Uigur breasts, big ones, too -
among the crowd of bearded and gowned aging fellows, among whom is only one
obvious foreigner, a Russian guy, also aging, with an acutely serious mien
meant to disguise his lascivious lusty look at the sexy babes... Could this
really be the real thing from 1890 when the building was constructed? God only
knows. How can I get a photo of that one I wonder? Tripod on the table. I'll
try. the Russian guy is mounted on a steed, by the way. I can't quite figure
the Greco-Roman part of the mural, which depicts a goddess apparently handing
down some inspiration to a mere mortal man and before them, some rather
insecure scroll-makers trying to get ready to pass-off their civilization to
who knows who... Except the one impression you get is that neither of these two
worlds knows very much about the other. It is curious to imagine a Russian
painter of 1890 relying on a Roman manner to convey the relationship of
Turkestan with the west... Perhaps the Russians wanted to show that their own
place was perhaps even east of East, and they weren't about to begin explaining
the intuition except by means of the land going away in that direction, and
perhaps suspecting somehow that the east is the land from whence they hailed...
I don't understand the meaning of the painter, though its fairly clear he meant
to show something by it all.
The sound of the town from my hotel
includes bonking horns and all sorts of construction saving noises... I am
going to venture out across the dust pretty soon and ride across town. The
first day of summer is coming on Monday, and the longest day of the year does
seem like a great time to set out. My energy is high. Not embarrassed to admit
that I'm over-eating a little bit. Tomorrow I need to buy a knife and a
can-opener, as well as some postage stamps to bring along on my trip. The dried
fruit and raisins, I need too, and some peanuts. Today, I'll be eating melons,
more beer and some vegetarian Chinese food. One of the ladies mentioned Wayne
Gretsky retired from hockey at thirty-eight. Tennis players need to win if they
want in the money. I'm lucky to hear from Kate, who sounded pleased to hear my
voice when I called her at noon today - today is June 19, 1999. The guys are
going to cover my airfares, so that is good news and makes losing time much
more fun to do. Not a care in the world... Breathe deeply and stretch out my
limbs, have to remember what it's like to be free and unburdened by the
righteous mind of our self-conscious era... Have a drink. Complaining is a
hand-me-down neuroses; have to leave myself, old feeble jealousy behind... It
is great to know - but hard to understand - just how different other people's
minds really are... The first day of summer. It's 38 degrees north latitude
here, and now the sun comes up at 6:00 and its light till 10:00 o'clock, local
Xinjiang time. Peace at last. Birds and girls chattering, the Earth will live
on a while yet. I hope I can, too.
It's June 22 and I'm at Markit, 86
kilometers from Yopurga, which is also 86 kilometers from Kashgar. It's still
hot. After two scorching days, I'm cooked and suffering from mild diarrhea. I'm
not used to the mutton or something. I'm beginning to think everyone suffers
from this problem around here, not only traveller's! My last evening in Kashgar
was okay. I chatted with some of the other traveller's and helped one Canadian
fellow ready his bicycle for a trip. This guy is big and strong and should have
no problem going to Pakistan, so long as he does not break the 40 dollar bike
he bought. The market was selling some woven saddle bags, so I helped him buy
them. After that I got ready myself, and I'm not sure when this happened, some
of us looked at that mural in the Russian consulate. I neglected to mention the
image in the middle of it, depicting a centurion wrangling with a big bull. In
the Turkestan half of the image, the crowd appears to be behind a religious
leader of some sort... bare tits or not... Perhaps this revels another idea of
a conflict between eastern and western worlds - the west made of conquests and
the east of following the leader... anyway, the picture probably means
something else again, since the West is "dark" and the east is shown as
"sunny." The Canadian guy is on a spring and summer tour and plans to return to
Canada and then go to Stanford to study. Somehow he managed to get in after
helping to build a robot for an automatic gas-filling system in Vancouver for
Shell.
I'm hot and looking forward to climbing up to a higher altitude
where there aren't any black flies! The first day was dusty and hot. First I
stopped at the post office to mail something, Russian scarves to my mom. That
morning Betty from Oakland, but originally, Taiwan, saw me off at the front
step of the hotel. Kind lady. The post office made me open my parcel for a
customs check - to make sure there weren't any drugs inside the package. I'm
told by a young fellow that lots of dealing goes on in Kashgar and vicinity,
including Khyrgizstan to the north. Recently, hash was selling for as little as
500 yuan for one kilogram, but the prices have gone up ten times due to police
pressure. Apparently there's a village south of Kashi selling and making hash
called Blacsu, but I think I've gone around it. The same guy who knew all of
the local situation, a local boy of 20, also told me that he had become a guide
after taking a course in English. He told me that the government doesn't offer
any money to local people and the hospital is costly for him. He didn't exactly
express any really bad discontent about the government, but he certainly wasn't
the world's biggest patriot either. Sadly, he said his sister had died in a car
accident three weeks previously, and he couldn't drink until the next day, nor
would his Muslim law allow him to eat at the Chinese restaurant, of course, run
by a Chinese guy.
I have not told of my ride out of Kashgar yet, and
I'd better write it now or the days may merge together and I will forget
everything. The city ended, or rather, changed into country villages along the
waterways. The road is pretty good south of Kashgar. On the sides of the road
village streets branch out and are always lined with the tall skinny trees that
grow all over the farms beside the desert. The trees have leaves resembling a
maple and is graceful, with a white bark that shows no rough surfaces. My first
stop was in Shule, a town with brand new thoroughfares and a main intersection
lined with new buildings. Lunch cost 3 yuan, characteristic noodles with fried
mutton and spices. The food might be causing my diarrhea. I don't know.
I decided to turn onto a side road and head for Yopurga. This turned
out to be a good choice since the route was more scenic and much less busy. As
I went along, I met a huge Monday street market. Local folk crowded the whole
place to buy whatever they might need, from a new wooden pitchfork to a smoked
fish. People were curious to see me. I ate some delicious cherries and
watermelon, as well as some mutton buns. On I went, despite the dust and
potholes. Actually, the road began improving. Most of the land seems to be
irrigated so the farmers were sometimes busy beside the road throwing up
pitchforks full of hay and the chaff was supposed to fly away. Women swept the
grain into piles on the smooth earth. Each range of farms often appear to
occupy their own oasis, especially further east away from Kashgar. Yesterday I
finally reached Yopurga and found the local hotel with help from a guy there on
a motorcycle. He showed me around the main street, the detour necessary due to
rocks the size of saucers.
I had a good experience at the hotel anyway,
as the family offered to cook me dinner - actually the cook was from Chengdu
and the helping girl from Gansu. Two girls came in, from the town, one of them
the hotel manageress's daughter, and they bravely tried their English on me. I
showed them my stuff and even tried a little Chinese. Sound like a simpleton.
But I'm fried. Gave a roll-your-own cigarette to the cook and the manageress,
which made their day, and dinner only cost me the price of the Huanghe beer.
Then I got the girl's pictures standing together and promised to mail it to
them. Then I read "The Woman in White" for a couple of hours. I slept okay but
woke up at three since I had to pee but the innkeeper had looked the gate so I
had to precariously pee out of the window. Funny, as I hoped my neighbors
didn't hear that! Slept again. Slowly, packed up my gear and set-off by seven
Xinjiang time. I need some water tonight. Better break and go get some tea. But
that is too much effort.
After Yopurga the farms and green groves
gradually began to become more sporadic. I stopped to snap some sand dunes
springing up beyond the trees! Suddenly the trees and farms disappeared for a
bit and they were replaced by a vast, sometimes marshy pasture and stubble. No
trees, only some low river ways, one completely dry, and the other, more active
and flowing away to irrigate some place else. Very little traffic on this
stretch of road. I glimpsed some more dunes on my right and rode out to get
some close-ups along a farmer's village path. Huge dunes about 15 meters high.
Climbing up on foot I noticed a camel somewhere over a hill and so I wandered
over to have a look. The poor old creature was languishing between two small
dunes, and I'd say he or she need water or some attention anyway. I took a
picture. Back on the route and suddenly the trees which had reappeared after
the pasture, disappeared again. The road ran between sage and sedge-like grass
and further out all around lay the sand, as far around as the eye could see. By
now it was 2:00 and the temperature 34 degrees Celsius. Really hot and the
yellow sand was bright like snow. The desert is really here.
But there
are some oases as well. Riding into the next one, just before Markit, about ten
kilometers outside. The first thing I noticed was the large size of the trees.
The other thing odd were the large plots of land, all perfectly planted. I
assumed it was a big commune, and then before my eyes came marching about
eighty or one hundred prisoners. The first group was dressed in more regular
clothing and hats, and the second one in gray striped shirts and pants - well,
striped along the top shoulder. Army guards walked in front of both groups. I
assume the first group involved "better-behaved" prisoners and the second, more
recalcitrant or hard-timers. All the prisoners had monk-like brush-cuts and
most of them appeared to be locals; the guards were all Chinese looking. Since
the trees were so huge, I assumed that. I'm falling asleep, writing this now.
The prisoners were employed, busily, and tended to the crops. All male, too.
Perfect place for a prison since the desert lies in every direction. I really
wanted to take a picture but thought better of letting the armed soldiers watch
me try to do that. Breaking rocks in the hot sun is all I can make of it.
Plenty of criminals, all of them shorn, some in leg-irons... Markit lay just
abut around the corner, a few kilometers from the prison farm. I want to go to
sleep now. Tomorrow I'll be riding south and hopefully the haze will moderate
and I can finally glimpse the Kunlun mountains. My tummy feels okay now and I
want to sleep very soon.
Today is June 24th and the moon will be full
in a few days. Yesterday was very cool, less than 20 degrees Celsius. It even
began to rain a little. The land was fairly busy along the stretch between
Markit and Yarkant. The tall trees beside the road, the long lanes powdered
with beige dust leading to the straw-mud houses... People are generally
friendly in this region. I was surprised to see the villagers willing to let me
get their photos. Yarkant turns out to be a big regional administrative center
with lovely brand new streets and several new buildings. But they put me in the
old wing which was actually very cool compared to the hot outdoor temperatures.
I washed my bike and ate dinner in the Chinese restaurant designed to appeal to
tour groups. I read for a couple of hours and drank too much beer. Bored and
feeling like the local ghost of the haunted house, I went out of the street to
buy one more beer. The disco was open and playing square Chinese music. I sat
down and listened as the crowd of mostly men waltzed away. Finally they put on
some disco and I even danced, forgetting my exhaustion. Then a fellow with a
mustache popped up and started singing along with a programmed synthesizer. It
was pretty good. Later I sat with a bunch of the people after hours so to
speak, and then I started talking about hash, and if I could buy some. I was
pretty drunk. Then I noticed the singer, the guy with a cossack mustache
decided he was going to show everyone how he was Mr. Balls and took my watch.
Taking things really is some sign of manhood here, and not everybody would
regard it as a bad thing. No doubt the singer is a bad apple, but so was his
buddy who showed up this morning to pretend he was going to summon the bad
boy... but only a few minutes later told me that the guy had taken off,
probably afraid that I'd go to the police. All's well that doesn't make too
much trouble when you're travelling.
So I just left town early this
morning and didn't say anything. I regret losing Kate's gift and I feel really
stupid and this reads like a dreary thing... Today was hot and I sweated all
the way up a gradual ascent to the town of Kargalik; it's at the foot of the
road to Tibet via the Chiragsaldi La (according to the map) pass. The pass is
very high up. around 5000 meters. The road up there from this point is about
200 kilometers or so, according to the truck drivers, local guys who use this
hotel as their base while going to and fro... Kargalik is an older town, but
also fairly big, and built on a absolutely flat spot. I visited the market to
buy some goodies after a delicious dinner of spinach and pork with tomatoes...
At the market I found some raisin and walnut surprise. Very good for cycling.
I'm really thinking that I should mail home some stuff that I've accumulated,
like my new "camera bag" and a tire tube and other stuff, either that or just
give stuff away. It would be a lot easier to carry more food this way. I'm
really over-loaded and have no idea if I can make the hills ahead of me. So
much heavy shit, like this notebook, maps, two shirts to many, a lot of shit!
I've got this bag of cereal which is delicious, but only with hot water!
Hopefully I can find some of that now and then. What else? Oh yes, I bought a
new wind-up watch for about 10 U.S. dollars and it claims to have 17 jewels. I
am tempted to stay here for another day, to rest and take the time to lighten
my load. If it is possible to do this, I will. Also, my camera could be put to
some good use as well. I'd like to write a couple of letters tomorrow, and I
should call some friends. The solitude is okay, but I am feeling too selfish.
Right now the English Chinese news is on t.v, the first time I've seen it on
this trip. The hot water is ready now, too, so I should go have one. Maybe I'll
call a friend...
I'm not so selfish. Psyching myself up for the ride...
It's the 28th now. The third day out of Kargalik. I made fair time the first
day, riding south. The road quickly left the orchards beneath the horizon. The
road ran straight between sand and nothing. The only things were two fingers of
a ridge, suggesting the entire ride would be a climb. After a small oasis the
ridges gave up to a flat land until finally some larger ridges appeared. I
reached Kogyar just after lunch and the oasis village was a welcome stop for
lunch. Before that I stopped at a well-kept commune with an endless artesian
well: pure drinking water. Kogyar had no hotel and at least the mutton soup was
good. I went on across a really windy stretch of sand and the 3 kilometer
blasting was enough. I reached a village called Pusa, and the people there -
kids actually showed me a great little camping spot in an apricot orchard. They
watched me wash up in the irrigation ditch, and before the sun went down, I
found the restaurant and ate my fill of noodles and enjoyed a horror movie with
the villagers about a scarecrow warlock. It was dusk when I retired and the
night was cool, but not cold. People were tolerant of my presence, which was
really pleasant.
Next morning the road grade changed and the pavement
returned. Odd how they don't pave the road through the villages. People were
smiling and didn't mind my picture taking. Got a great one of a girl carrying
water and standing beside an old man. Onward to the first pass of two on this
leg. The last dry villages were nestled in the crevices at the foot of much
sharper and rockier mountains: the sandy dune ridges with their soft, smooth
wrinkles were gone. Sandy slides, doming out from beneath the jagged tops were
crisscrossed with goat trails. the top of the pass was windy. But the view was
something. I'm not sure, but it looked like the peaks of K2 could all be
visible together from Pusa. The descent was over 30 ks. I was feeling very
pooped, so I persuaded some guys at a commune beside a nearly deserted village
to let me stay the night. It was pleasant and I ate some noodles. Must be over
10 guys living there, and a couple of women, too. All from the neighborhood
(Kargalik) and helping out with the road development and care. One guy spoke
some English, and he told me he'd been there for only two months, and then he
showed me his transit. He joked that the workers were "very bed" and I guess
meaning, bored. Beyond the deserted village - but for about three of four sand
houses, I found a lovely oasis on a bend in the river. It supported the few
families who had stuck it out to keep it fertile. Amazing how some people won't
give up their paradise! I'd've camped over there, but was feeling too weary to
lug my stuff over. I shared the surveyors' room and after I was falling asleep,
the guys brought in some cooked, smoked fish! Delicious I slept but woke up at
5:30 and got ready to go. I had some cereal and that was enough to carry me up
up up all the way here to some point about ten or twenty kilometers below the
top of the pass, maybe thirty, but I'm not certain. All I know is that I
climbed gradually all day up to this point 58 kilometers beyond the commune at
Akaz. It is beautiful, beside a roaring river and with a huge snow peak right
in front of my tent window! I am hungry and must eat before night falls:
peanuts, dried fruit wafers, and a watermelon - and two pieces of bread.
Only twenty-three kilometres today. The camping was wonderful and I
managed to stay warm. It's the 29th of June and at nearly 5000 meters only two
things strike you. The cold winds and the blinding hot sunlight. The fellows at
the commune at the top of the pass into the Yarkant valley and the town of
Mazar invited me to stay the night. Although it is only 36 kilometers or 40 odd
down to Mazar - I decided to stop here. The sandy-hued Kunluns are trading
places with the gray slaty mountains that ridge the Yarkant river. The road
goes up beside cracks and rivers coming out along the ancient glacial tongue.
Some pieces of glacier - or last winter's blizzards, are still melting further
below. The road was too slow at first due to a lot of very coarse and slippery
gravel below the final ascent. At last after pedaling from 8:00 A.M. until 2:00
P.M., I finally got to more or less the summit. It's a long road between the
ridges, glacial till and the brilliant snow peaks. Looking at the map, I have
to admit feeling somewhat worried about making the distance. Some regions along
the way are empty of people, so I'll have to buy some food along the way and
I'm afraid there may be nothing for miles and miles... I'll make it somehow,
but it is a very long way to Lhasa.
Wild animals and other creatures
that I have seen en route. I counted twenty camels, at least 6 wild prairie
chickens, a few marmots, some really pretty birds - one this morning - a kind
of pin red, bigger than a robin. There are also a lot of burros or donkeys, as
well as goats and sheep. Mutton is a staple food in this place, and the most
popular vegetables to mix with the stuff are green peppers and tomatoes. I feel
somewhat dizzy today, a little tired and I wan to sleep. Last night before
sleep I tried to take some pictures of the moon with time exposures. It was so
bright outside. At about 4000 or so meters, I kept nice and warm in my tent.
Lots of truck traffic on this highway #219, both commercial and military. At
least about 30 trucks coming down the pass went by me yesterday, all looked
like troop transport trucks with nobody in them. Right now the sun is so hot
and bright. The glacial valley is long and wide. I'm too lazy to shave or wash
clothes. Maybe tomorrow, if I arrive early enough at Mazar, and the facilities
are okay, I can wash everything. This commune consists of three bunk rooms, a
common room with newspapers and road work stats and kitchen. Nothing else, only
a hut at the back for the power generator. At least I can get a decent meal and
get my rest day in Mazar tomorrow. I hope I can find some food there to buy.
It's my only worry until I get to the region beyond Kailash, and that is at
least a month of riding. Of course, most of that riding will be over much more
level ground that this hard climb up to the Chiragsaldi La, which is either
5400 meters or 4970 meters high, depending on which reference you use. Other
animals - big black ravens that enjoy hovering around the air currents beside
the ridges. The mountain in front of me is about 7000 meters high. There is
always more snow on the north slope of the mountains it seems. People actually
live up here, too. I can see black and white specks of mountain goats or lambs
grazing on the mountainside in front of this place. Nothing to do but wait for
the end of the day. I think I'll read for a while.
Today is the last
day of June, the 30th. I'm camped beside the mud waters of the Yarkant River. I
stopped for lunch at Mazar, at the foot of the pass. I got up really early this
morning and rode to the top of the pass by 9:00 A.M. The air temperature when I
started out at 6:00 A.M. was minus 2 degrees Celsius. I was all bundled up and
by the time I got to the top I put most of my clothes away. So many trucks on
this road, going towards Ali, and supplying the army camp at Ali, too. I hope
that there are more than a few days remaining for me on this Earth. I have a
lot of bean porridge and a few peanuts and raisins. Also some dried fruit I
haven't touched yet, and some walnuts and raisins mixed with sugar. Ha, ha.
Well, I think seeing as there are so many trucks, and I see a road crew is
working, so that means somewhere up ahead, about 20 ks is another commune where
I might find some lunch if I am lucky. This is a truck route and the land
around here is fairly barren between the tawny Kunlun slopes. Only camels; I
saw 14 more today, bringing the total to 34. Riding down the mountain lasted
about 25 kilometres so that means I'm still pretty high up, given that the
climb up to the pass from Karkalik amounted to 217 kilometres all told. The
road along this river is a donkey's joke: very washboardy and hardly ridable,
except for the shoulders and the middle sometimes. Hopefully the road will
improve after the river valley, some 200 kilometres from now. If there is no
rest stop in the valley, I may wave down some truckers and beg for food. What a
laugh. I may have to hitch a ride if things get empty, at least I hope that
doesn't happen. I better eat my dinner of raisin sand nuts and I've got one bun
for breakfast. It is very beautiful in this place! I got some excellent photos
of the mountains and earthen formations on the way. Wind is odd in the Yarkant
valley: it changes direction from head to tail without asking for permission.
Dust devils sometimes wind up in the heat of mid-afternoon, a lot like in the
desert on the way up here. I'll make it through, I'm sure!
The first of
July and I climbed another really high pass in the Kunluns today and am very
near Shaitulla. I hope there's a restaurant there. I have to eat some meat and
vegetables or I'll croak. I do have to say that I feel beaten up by nature. The
winds on the pass were fierce and colder than I'd expected. Finally, I made it
over the top! Some fellows offered me water, but there's plenty coming off the
snow mountain peaks all around. There's a peak visible in three directions from
this perfect campsite on a mini-oasis on the river. A farmer uses it to graze
his beef cattle - yaks. Birds are chirping. I saw another prairie chicken. I
wish I could roast one right now! Actually, I was riding along the Yarkant
river basin and the pass today was will bring me to the Karakax river gorge.
This will be yet another long, slow uphill until a high pass up to the plateau.
It is cool here, and I can't imagine what it will be like there! It'll take me
five days at least, and maybe seven if I take a day to rest... I'm hungrier
than I realize but did score five buns from a road crew commune. Food is my
only worry, and if there are some restaurants in Shaitulla, I'll somehow buy
out all the food I can to bring with me - from the folks there or the truckers,
too. The road is a nightmare almost half the time. The foundation soils are so
soft and sandy, when they pour gravel on top, it only makes a washboard soup!
Yikes.
Sometimes as I ride along, I keep thinking that I should use the
meditation time to imagine a plot for a novel, and draft it out as I ride
away... Well, I keep watching the road or gawking at the mountains! Then I keep
thinking, guiltily, sorrowfully and I wish - more joyfully - about women I
know, my lover Kate and hopeless Sue and my lost Sarah! I think of the work
I've done and the new job I'll have to find when I get back. I laugh at the
time I'm wasting - have wasted for the past few years. Really - writing is my
destiny - or death deserves me. When I think of the women... Kate - I see her
going through her routine, putting up and I hope getting on well with Nick...
and here I am working like a slave to ride this bike, everyday a vista, an
exhausting struggle. Kate would wait forever for a guy like me. Sue won't - I
haven't lived with her. In my own vain thoughts - I remember my age and feel it
coming over me. I'm no more capable of making a brilliant decision today than I
was a helpless five years ago! What a mind! Not what a life! They used to say
that when I was six years younger. Now it appears that I'm expected to petrify
and evaporate, since that's the normal thing for a devoted obsessive compulsive
dupe dope idiot genius like myself.
I don't want to hate anything or
anyone anymore. Find peace. I am a little scared of this natural Earth. I want
to relax more and forget about whether it will be hot or cold. Poor dear Kate?
What will we do with each other? As for the other women I love - how can I have
them? I'm too stupid or afraid to say goodbye, and to hang on without a choice
- that is distracting enough to the imagination, and even more cruel to other
people. Perhaps words will make sense to me again. I can't wait forever for the
fate, the making up of my mind, her mind, their minds. Love is the one thing I
need to be at peace. To let a woman love me, that appears to be the only thing
I need to learn, to understand to set feelings free. People like me are
considered foolish, since the one thing modern people pride themselves on is
their decision, their self-assurance and the where-withal to achieve
everything. In our society, culture reminds us everyday to live sincerely and
to devote your passions openly, honestly. Love cannot steal a man's focus, but
perhaps only when a man understands what love is - can he get it back again.
Life is a series of big and small crises, and naturally, some of us have
strengths to reach and give, others of us have a gift for reason and analysis;
our nature's are driven simply by our strengths, and weaknesses we ignore them,
blot them out until someone else accuses us of going off and being selfish,
etc... Our time is in love with opposed passions, selfishness and selfless
love, xenophobia and an open mind, anger and calm... Perhaps the time of
civilization really does know too much, and so much do we know that our
attempts to proceed are often mildly, or wildly, baffled by knowledge - and not
by the declared complexity of things and personality... We are wise without
wanting to be, since we still don't know what to do to pacify the animal race
beneath our pubic passions... say it again, claim it, but it - but try to sell
it, that's another life, davey... Rest and eating. Eating and rest... I hope
there's a restaurant in Shaitulla, or I'll soon be a beggar and a
hitch-hiker... Raisins and walnuts, buns, water, milk powder and cereal powder.
I feel like an astronaut or something....
What a fucking place the
Karakax River valley is! I made it to the new Shaitulla, an army base with a
handful of restaurants and a road worker's commune. I had a great tail wind
down the mountain. Lunch was good - fried rice with three eggs. I also bought
some cookies, a watermelon, dried beef and some milk yogurt in bottles. 80
yuan. Glad to be camping despite the wind and the spot of rain. I feel very
wind blasted. After leaving town, I found the way slow due to the rough road.
Then the wind came up from a huge peak not far from the town. I had to walk for
a couple of kilometers past the point, a sort of rift between the ridges coming
down from the mountain. Intense nature. I am so small and nothing to the vast
cosmos. All the vanities of the twentieth century come to mean less than we'll
ever begin to know ourselves. I found a slightly sheltered spot in the river
valley behind a wind-blown heap of sand between my tent and the road. It even
has dropped a few droplets of rain on me. The weather is so moody.
Unpredictable changes of wind direction and the glowering clouds are blown away
in minutes. Hopefully, the often repeated - hopefully - the weather will be
more friendly. Some soldiers came in while I was having lunch. Obviously
everyone thinks I'm nuts, but I can enjoy a laugh at myself with everyone.
Tomorrow, God help me - let the sun shine and the wind be on my ass! Add some
more camels, that makes 41. Temperature +2 this morning when I put away my
camp. I'm at nearly the same altitude now, and perhaps it'll be as cool
tomorrow. Sleeping bag is warm, but still need to put on a shirt and my vest to
feel safe. By 9:00 or 10:00 P.M., you can tell if it will be a cold night or
not. Should have a good crap in the morning. God I hope I'll live to see
someone all the ones who love me again, not that I deserve to have that love
and being with a woman once more...
July 3. Only 45 kilometres over a
low but slow pass into a spectacular and very wide plain beside the river
Karakax. I was flagged in by one of the road worker employees to stay at their
commune. I took the opportunity to wash my clothes and am now waiting for them
to dry. The guys are curious about my journey and all my stuff. I ate a great
dinner of rice and lamb with a tasty yellow vegetable. Interesting that all of
these Xinjiang fellows are really curious to know not only where I come from,
but if I am a Musselman or not, and if I also eat pork... Perhaps it's only
because they meet one in person... Naturally they don't mind that I am one, and
they are really warm fellows. But I think these guys are pretty lonely and
seldom go out of the commune to the city. Now all I want to do is read for a
while and dry my clothes by the stove and relax if I can. Tomorrow is a climb
up and down again to Tongliutian from here, Kangxiwar. It's about 45 or 50
kilometres to there. I hope to rest there again and stock up on food.
Apparently, the next truck stop is 90 kilometres from Tongliutian - at least
that is according to a group of Chinese people I met travelling in two land
cruisers - one of whom spoke fluent English... They hadn't noticed any other
cyclists in the neighborhood...
What freaky weather. July 4th has me
riding slowly up a sandy road. So slow it is nuts. But tail wind picked up as
sun was covered by dark clouds. Beautiful sandy dune-sided ridges taking the
brunt of the wind coming from the north off the Kunluns. I crossed a dry river
bed and had to put on my warm clothes again since the sun disappeared and the
clouds hovered only a couple hundred metres above the road. Wind brought small
amounts of freezing rain and then snow. Fortunately, it was a big tail wind and
the wet hardened up the road quite a lot. Road is climbing quite steeply now.
There's supposed to be a 7000 metre peak near here but it isn't visible. Maybe
tomorrow, after climbing up some more! I hope the wind keeps behind me or I'll
go bananas! Apparently there is no rest stop for 190 kilometres, but there
ought to be another commune or two. I do have food with me and I'm going to eat
dinner tonight and I've already had lunch. Time to go over to a cafe and look
for a beer so I can enjoy a smoke and read my book.
Making slow time,
only 57 kilometres today, over a 5000 + metre pass into the Aksai Chin, a vast
sandy plateau dotted with low hills and the odd mountain peak. I am only
stopping because the friendly guy in the restaurant invited me to stay.
Surprisingly a few people have set-up the odd rest stop along the way. Food
should not be a great problem. The real reason I am not camping today isn't
because I cannot set up my tent out of laziness but because I am lonely and
also I'm afraid of freezing to death... The landscape is unearthly today -
hardly a living planet anywhere! Only russet sand and black pebbles... I keep
imagining I am on some other planet! I was daydreaming as I rode along the last
of the river valley: someone ought to suggest to NASA that they build a
landcruiser the size of a semi-trailer and send it to Mars with a few people so
they could drive all around the planet and look for fossils. It's good to get
my mind off of negative thoughts. Apparently it is 5000 metres on this
plateau... I'm looking forward to reaching Ali in about four or five days, but
I'll have to ride a little further each day: oddly it is possible to ride
beside the sandy road on the desert surface: some truckers have made a
hard-packed trail there. Maybe I can make a hundred tomorrow if there's a tail
wind. The raw, sculptured beauty of this place is startling really. The air is
so crisply clear and the sky a deep deep blue. At least I'm done with mountain
passes until the Tibet border about 200 kilometres south.
Sun is just
coming up and it is cold. Yesterday I rode 98 kilometres and that was because
of the tail wind and some hard-packed soil beside the lumpy road. The Aksai
Chin is very pretty! At this southern end of it, some grasses, yellow green and
scruffy, as well as some shorter greener grass grows, too. Some moss and a few
tiny leafy tundra type plants. Few species can endure the freezing summer
nights. Yesterday I also saw two deer with large antlers - perhaps the Jantang
antelope? One had a white rump and some lighter side or two colors - they were
far from me and shy. Reminds me I also saw a jack rabbit, a big one, the other
day; on July 4th. Now I have to get up and go to the pass - I don't know if I
can make it in one day or not!
Same day, the seventh. Tent up at 6:30,
about fifty kilometres to the pass over to Tibet. I'm tired after climbing over
another pass to the last valley of Aksai Chin. this is a phenomenal place with
more color than my place got on this trip. The black of an old river bed and
the bright gold of the mountains topped with snow and blue deep sky. The
elevation is quite high here, maybe over 5000 metres. So, I'm going to get cold
unless I can trust to me clothing. Wish my sleeping bag was heavier. This
morning I saw two more antelope, light belly, darker sides, and very long
horns, spirally. One of them was trotting along to meet my path, when,
suddenly, he checked himself, realizing that I wasn't an antelope, I suppose,
and turned tail back the way he came. I also saw three wild donkeys (asses) and
as I tried to approach them to take my photo, they shied away... This is a very
remote place, and if there were no roads through here, I'm sure many more
animals would appear to populate it. As expected, 190 kilometres after the last
dinner truck stop, another one, a few restaurants beside a small army base,
appeared beside the turquoise of a lake. I ate so much because it was so
delicious. Then I had a shave, too, and washed my hair. Onward another 20
kilometres over a little pass brought me to this magnificent valley. It is so
lovely in this place. I've been thinking silly thoughts, trying to purge that
redundant negativity which I blame on society... Resolving to read more
Dostoyevsky and even Phil K. Dick. I should plot out my novels... Dreamed
hilarious dreams last night. William Shatner was sitting on a bench in the
middle of the boulevard, holding up a tasseled blue gray banner with gold stars
on it, grinning in a winsomely sheepish way... Then when I woke up a moment
later I realized that a lot of people are waiting for that bus which never
seems to arrive... and suffering their own lot, being typecast or whatever, can
you think of a better description? By their circumstantial character and the
the peculiarly unconscious destiny we end up creating for ourselves. But I keep
suffering from the helpless sensation that I'm little in control of my own
ends, letting things happen to me more often than I feel like I'm putting my
own foot forward in the direction I imagine is the ideal one for me. Deferred
creativity may only be a summoning of resources which need time to make
renewals and transitions - recharging - complete. I hope I do not freeze
tonight, because at this altitude, I even have a little headache, the
temperature could fall to minus 10 and my bag is rated for -5, well I do have a
lot of warm clothing to put on while I sleep. Wonder what Kate is doing today?
In four or five days I'll be in Ali, where I can rest for an extra day, to wash
clothes, shower, write a few letters and make a couple of calls. It'll be good
to let a few people who care know everything is okay...
Warmer than I
expected last night. Stuck my head out to see the milky way and millions of
stars. Clearest I've ever seen. Finally crossed the pass into Tibet despite a
head wind. Found lunch at a tiny village. Some yurts along the way. So I've
camped beside a guy, a child and two women. They are giggly and curious. I
don't want to take what little food they may have. They keep some lovely
long-haired goats... I will go talk to them later. Today my head was full of
happy fantasies. I though I should write a teasing letter to Sarah - suggesting
that she could find a job in Paris and we could share a flat and I could get
whatever work I might find. I'll tease here about it and see what she says.
Also thought about writing a letter to the president of China, suggesting that
the military presence in Tibet and all of their education and whatever they try
to provide seems a lot like China under the Manchus, and that, of course, an
empire never sees itself from the perspective of historical example... The
people are poor here, the man showed me his feet and he has a mild deformity
there - shaking his head while putting his hand to his mouth, indicating not
enough food when he was growing. the well-fed like me can't begin to
rationalize against the well-fed Chinese army, but you really wonder when you
see them build themselves a new base and drive expensive Steyr (German?)
trucks. But the military pretty much seems to keep tightly to themselves. You
know it's an empire colony when there isn't enough give and take. Yet suggest
to Jiang Zu Min that "modern" China really represents a throwback to earlier
civilizations. Napoleonic Europe, Alexander, Ghenghis Khan. What is the
difference? Well, that answer - I would very much enjoy replying to. Life among
the nomads "appears" changeless. But it isn't. Obviously the people have some
awareness and opinion about people from the outside world. My tent for example
- does not excite admiration from my neighbor - he made a kind of collapsing
motion when he saw how it flaps and billows in the wind. Another point for my
letter of defense for independence. I'll remember it tomorrow... What should I
do? I keep imaging Claude Levi Strauss in his book he didn't say too much about
what the Indians felt about the outside world - though Claude wasn't shy to
write about what he thought about his own civilization, ie.: the two types of
university students - professional/social and academic/creative... If the
university has become a nesting ground for the archetypal bourgeois manque -
the fancy man's son - who, while graced and knowledgeable, refined and full of
quotes - yet hasn't a creative bone in his body. Ladies here - two of them,
very cute and smiley, one wears at least ten bracelets on her right arm -
perhaps it's a reservoir of wealth - a bank account, in case all the livestock
die... People who have little must cherish the few valuable pieces that they do
have: but I don't know if the jewelry represents security or more simply - the
beauty of being who they are. A tough question to put. The locals can read my
phrasebook, which is good, so I can communicate. I'm a little shy, since who
knows what to do first - to understand and ask even the simplest personal
questions... I want to read my book and eat some more. See if I can remember my
anti-colonial argument. Something to do with purposelessness and also the idea
of two impossibly irreconcilable viewpoints. Of course, some good must be
brought to give by every imperialist - yet so often as history shows - the
colonial power only give enough to satisfy it rationalization of what its
benevolent purpose is supposed to be. The rest of remains a shrug of shoulders
- as each group realizes its unique and impenetrable identity. If things keep
going as it is likely to: then you will see things like the Panchen Lama line
replace the Dalai Lama one - it has happened before: the king is a Hindu or a
Buddhist, the sanction of power expresses its self and social persuasion in
quick time... China will go on with its comfortable propaganda, whether the
rest of the world buys it or not - if only to keep its own self-image and
social line secure. Impossible quandary of civilization, this natural cultural
identity. I'm fascinated by it since I grew up thinking and laughing about the
idea that I did not live in a society which could ever have a natural identity.
I kept chasing after other identities as if to test their truth value, or
psychological comfort. Americans and Europeans suffer just as much from this
mixed system of certainty and illusion - of character, social morality,
cultural images and the various kinds of evaluations we can apply to
understanding ourselves and arrive at decisions... Gotta stop here - sun's
going down - have to get dressed warmly now.
Too exhausted to write
today. Warmer down here. Explain tomorrow.
Tomorrow has come, the 10th
of July. Yesterday was a long descent to the area near Domar, made of red
sandstone. The road became soft soup of sand and slowed me quite a bit. But I
camped by a dry river bed just around the corner from Domar garrison. I arrived
there about 9:30 A.M. today, had a huge meal and bought a dried fish and some
noodles. People were very nice to me at the little fiberboard and 2x2 inch
wooden room of a restaurant. But it cost me double and at least it was very
much worth it. As I left Domar the road went up and over from one river valley
to the next one. At last it went down again and led me to a lake. But the road
turned away from the salty white fringed turquoise water - past a cave mouth
edged with droppings from goats. Inside the cave was cool, but no water I
realized that the mountains were too warm and low for summer white tops - and
the possibility of finding water was unlikely. I struggled around a small lake,
again blue and green like polished stones... Over the next long rise I suddenly
spotted a different kind of water, a river or creek glittering like a silver
wire in the fast setting sun. I pushed my bike over the salty hummocks until I
found a patch of really dense and lovely grass by the streamside. A miniature
oasis. Ducks flapping happily in the water and little birds whistling, too. I
set-up my camp. The water is pure and clear. There is definitely some minerals
in this water since it carries a few bubbles always along. The water is clearly
an earthen spring - here, in the middle of this dry, parched desert! It feels
like a little miracle. I washed my body and hair. I'm tempted to stay here for
the day tomorrow so I can wash my clothes too! As I got up to take a picture of
my camp and the surrounding ruddy hills, I spotted a man riding a tingling
pony. I said hello, but he'd already passed by, his own black pony followed by
a curious baby pony! I managed one photo of him riding at a distance into the
sun. Perhaps he has a house or tent around the bend of the creek over there.
Another reason to stay, aside from washing and looking for close-ups of
waterfowl, would certainly be to look around for that guy's place. Dusk will be
coming on in a few minutes so I'd better have an evening snack before sleep.
Haven't taken too many photos of this desert area, but I did get a good early
morning picture of the fellow from the yurt combing wool from his sheep. He
didn't really mind, but his cute wife seemed a bit shy so I didn't chase her.
Got another photo of his baby sheep. The phrasebook is great, too. He was
married but without kids. It looked like the curious frightened boy was his
(possibly) sister-in-law's kid. All I wish I had right now was a pile of dung
and a stove, and maybe a lamp. My bed is soft tonight - on long deep green
grass. Peace is here today. I don't mind being alone. Yet this day and place
makes me wish a woman could share this with me. I can write my happy, fantasy
letters - and tease love with my joyful side... I won't bother with any angry
or cynical nonsense... This day is really like a gift from God! It's also much
warmer here, after having descended from the pass into Tibet. Bod Yul. There
comes a bubble sound from the spring... Perhaps there are a few fish swimming
around in there, or at least a few frogs. I'll listen later. That water does
seem several degrees warmer than mountain run off and I'd like to see its
welling up point.
It is only a 35 kilometre day. Got up late to wash
clothes and wait for them to dry in the windy sun. Facing a steep headwind and
a bumpy grade - I promise I won't mention the nightmare narrow road again - I
finally reached the edge of Dysang Lake. It sounds more like the ocean and
looks as deep. The whole deep blue thing, a fresh water lake, is surrounded by
stark rough sandstony mountains which glow a sort of gold at sunset. Fighting
the wind is no use. Instead, I simply put it in first and bumped along until I
finally rounded the lake. Now I sit in anticipation as my hosts wait to decide
my fate for the evening... This is a hotel, but it's all made of Tibetan tents
and I don't know if I'm allowed to stay here. The four person crew, two women -
Bema and Demdo, and two fellows take care of the place. We shared a dinner of
"momo" dumplings. Made of goat or lamb hamburger, the meat is put into a large
dumpling and steam boiled and served in its own soup. It is actually quite
tasty. They also have the most deliciously sweet milk tea. I got some good
shots of the lake and the folks here. I have a feeling they don't see many
foreigners, at least not white ones - so they don't know what to do with me.
Interestingly, they speak a mixture of Chinese and Tibetan language. My
phrasebook is wonderful, but it is slow to figure out things and certainly no
help to reading minds. Everyone seems musical, at least one of the girls, the
busiest one - everyone else but the other girl (who washed the dishes) is
taking it easy. Bema likes to sing to herself and isn't shy about it and
everyone seems to enjoy listening to her. Shortwave radio - snippets of street
protests against Slobodan M. in Belgrade as well as the regime in Iran! Makes
me want to buy a radio when I get to Ali... I'm still reading "The Woman in
White" by Collins and enjoying it a lot... This is so boring so, I'll let you
know if I found a bed tomorrow.
According to my trust guidebook, there
are petroglyphs chiselled into the rock near Risum town. Lucky for me, I found
them, carved into the rock face right beside the road, just above a point in
the earth from which natural spring water gurgles forth out of the Earth.
Passed through the booming county capital of Rutok. Lots of compounds and
official offices. They are building several in the Earth greenhouses to grow
vegetables. After last night, smoking and drinking and watching my hosts gamble
with a version of 21 poker - I was hungry by 11. My lunch was over-priced. But
I got some candy at one of the well-stocked little shops. Headwind up a sandy
road, I finally reached Risum just in time to get some superb close-ups in full
color of the petroglyphs depicting stylized antelopes, the Bon cosmic egg and
other animals and human forms. The carvings appear to have been done at
different times, but they are ancient enough. It is amazing to think that life,
the life of the nomads has gone on for so long in a perpetual yet changeless
way... My hair is dry, and I need to drink the beer I bought in Risum.
A long, exhausting climb 56 kilometres to the pass into the Indus
basin. Met two German fellows just before the pass at 5:30, Martin and Klaus.
Got their emails and will compare trips later. They're headed the other way, to
Kashgar. So we exchanged tips on road conditions. Apparently, the south route
to and beyond Kailash is very sandy. May have to turn north and around some
lakes... Anyway, these guys are refreshing. I had a real energy spurt after
talking to them. They had flown to Kathmandu and bussed in to Lhasa - meeting
by coincidence... Also, just before meeting them, a local cruiser stopped and
besides it's Chinese and Tibetan occupants, was an English fellow, Paul. I
think he'll be stopping for a day or two in Ali as well. Pity I couldn't have
arrived two days ago and I could have partied with Martin and Klaus. At least I
can look for Paul and it'll be someone to talk to... I'm not so lonely, but
after over 20 days on the road, and only one rest day, I need a break!
Here I am. Sharing a room with Paul Hammacott, an artist (painter) from
west England. It's Ali, and I'm going to stay here for a couple of days since
I'm really like a worn out piece of meat... The heat, the sandy road - it is
madness. I'm tempted to look for a truck. I met a couple from Quebec, Oscar and
Suzanne (actually Oscar is from Bolivia but lives in Montreal ) are travelling
east towards Lhasa. They've already been to Tsaparang, the old Guge kingdom
along the Sutlej which I would like to visit. I am going to have to save time
by trucking out of the Kailash region if I want to visit the central area and
Lhasa. I am tempted to head south through Nepal, even into India and visit the
mountain area before flying out from Amritsar of Calcutta. I have no idea what
to do. But I did get some fantastic slides already of the Rutok/Rimotang
petroglyphs I very much want to get a photo of all the ruins of Guge and do a
loop around central Tibet... Anyway, Ali is a real mix of people with all sorts
of roles - some workers, country people, truckers, Chinese shopkeepers, cute
Tibetan teashop girls, civil and military police, various Uigur cooks, street
urchins and middle-aged beggars, too. Most of the trade comes via the Xinjiang
route. I think I'll head out on the 17th. I have to make some calls, wash more
clothes, my hair, write letters. Oddly, although this is a closed area - you
can buy all kinds of surprising things - even postcards. Hopefully I can get
everything together. Here is my list: nivea cream, crackers, chocolate, jerry
can, noodle soup, nuts, flashlight... other dried foods: I found a super
bargain on dried beef slices. Bought some carrot sticks and also some fresh
peaches. Gotta write postcards and letters to family and friends. Paul is a
nice pal. He's been living off and on in India for sometime...
Two days
of rest and conversation. The day after I arrived, Carl Alchorn showed up. He's
a Canadian, looks older than me. On a bike for years since 1980; most of the
time he just rides around the world and then gets a job every few years as a
surveyor. He likes to talk, probably for the same reasons I do as well - being
alone for long periods. He is a non-stop supply of anecdotes, and he as a
pleasant and also grotesque light humor about everything. Without a doubt,
long-term cycle tourists do see every inch of our small planet, but we also go
bananas after awhile. Yesterday I tried to call Kate but she wasn't in. At
last, this morning I got through to her, and she was really happy to hear from
me, and she wanted to know if I'd seen any wild animals on the way. I just told
here I am okay. Today's ride was hard, only 44 k's because, between Ali and the
river are some sandy ridges. I walked several kilometres. The road finally led
to a bridge across the Gar Zangpo river, and now it's all rocky. I won't be to
Tsamda, the county capital, until July 21 or so. I want to explore Toling's
temples and then hike or ride out to Guge - Tsaparang and explore it. That
means I'll be at Tsamda for a couple of days, and probably won't leave until
the 24th. Then I will be on to Kailash. This river valley is very wide and the
mountains above me on my right as I proceed to the east are really beautiful
and big and grey. I was sorry to say so long to Paul and Carl. I had some good
talks with Paul. Talking shop and listening to Carl was fun - but two days is
enough. I'm alone again. Little Kate kept saying, "I love you, I love you, I
love you - I miss you, I miss you, I miss you!" Paul inspired me to think more
about India, and certainly, this year I'll try to figure out some way to plan a
move. One interesting way to survive is to build and maintain a guesthouse for
tourists and other folk who happen to wander up into the north of India. It
doesn't cost much to get going. Paul and his buddies gather at the Burmese
Buddhist Monastery at Bodhigaya in Bihar state, the place of Buddha's
enlightenment - every year around Christmas time. He's aiming to hike through
Purang into Nepal, and then return to his favorite haunts in India. Carl is
riding on to Khyrgyzstan. He's come all the way from Australia up through
south-east Asia and hopes to visit his family for Christmas in New Brunswick. I
wrote a lot of letters and a couple of cards yesterday, including mom and dad,
Sarah, Kate, Sue, my brothers. Tonight I have a candle, so I can read for
awhile. I miss you. I miss you and I love you I love you.
111-91=20. I
should be about 10 to 20 kilometres away from Gar Gunsa - ancient capital of
the Ngari region. The people back in town said that it was about 38 kilometres
to Namru, my junction, which makes it about 33 now, since I stopped after
fording my umpteenth sand spillway. Some of these monsoon inspired currents are
pretty strong. The unexpected highlight of the day was being overtaken by three
landcruisers with a group of travellers from Taipei. They are travelling, so
they hope, all the way out to Chengdu. But their "supply" truck got stuck in
the swollen stream. I have no idea if it will be able to catch up with them
later or not. Exchanged addresses, email. Perhaps we can compare photos later.
Maybe I'll see them at Tsamda. Men and women. Pretty friendly and adventurous.
One of them asked me if I was frightened. Only of bad weather. Last night it
rained softly. Some of my bags are a little wet after these river crossings. I
hope the whole thing doesn't get out of hand, and the rivers let me through!
Now to eat and relax a little. I 've run out of tobacco and crave a cigarette.
Sunflower seeds. Keep thinking of Kate, mentally sketching a plan for an
"Indian Mountain Guesthouse" and realized that an earthling need not play a
major role in the novel I want to write about clones and rebels, unless, in the
second part, Earth is an unwitting example... The sky is mostly clear. Across
the wide valley some thunderstorms rained on the ridge of low mountains. Birds
chirping. Very quiet in this place. I'm drinking rivers and springs. Managed to
find a beer today in the last town; the kids were too shy to let me take their
pictures. I'm hungry now.
Early morning of the 21st. I've crossed two
high passes these last two days. The land has changed considerably from the Gar
Zangpo valley. After a couple of narrow valleys between and coming out of the
pass, I found myself on a wide plateau and to the south, the Himalayas ranging
in a straight line all along the south. At least it is warmer down here - I
camped near the top of the first pass - 5000 metres and it rained and I tried
to keep warm. Forgetting something. Met a group of Chinese travellers who were
keen to take my pictures. Now it is a couple of tents along a narrow gorge in
the plateau. Got hot water from the people here. But the kids are too
mischievous and kept taking my rain covers off my bike - so I got angry at
them. Dreaming vividly overnight. Food okay. 65 kilometres to Tsamda (Toling).
There's a hotel there. I should be able to find water and wash my stuff and
tomorrow visit the monastery. Day after, go to Tsaparang, come back the next
day or whatever, and try to find my way back to the road to Kailash. There's
supposed to to be a short-cut. Otherwise, I'll look for a truck. Heavy clouds
are keeping the night warm - but it is too drizzly for my taste! I wish it
would warm up and get sunny here!
What a country this is! Phenomenal
beauty and absolutely empty of people. The way I like it. After crossing the
two passes south of the Ali-Kailash main road, I finally found the plateau I
was waiting for. The distant range of the Himalayas runs like a gray black
straight edge across the south: east to west. Beyond the spiky grass plateau I
was riding on was the upper edge of the "canyon country." It look a lighter
grey, wrinkled like the flesh of an elderly person who spent all his time in
the sun. then the road fell into a steady descent, and the canyons, hoodoos and
ravines appeared. First they were sand yellow orange, a light ochre. As I rode
down they grew taller and taller, looming a few hundred metres above the road
on both sides. Basically the route traces along a dry river bed. Gradually the
valley grows up and green things appear because a spring starts up from between
one of the gorges. Mostly a thick prickly hedge grows up out of the sand. I was
thinking that if I'd ever a chance to choose a different career, I think a
"habitat biologist" would be a good one. One farmer along the way has taken
care to nurse several tall poplars from the spring in his yard. In fact, it was
the only permanent farm in the whole valley. Higher up, some other houses built
into the caves of sandstone were shut up for the season, I suppose the farmers
came back in the fall. At last, the tributary valley meets the wide valley of
the Sutlej River. It is so beautiful, with the canyon mountains lining both
sides, the black and white Himalayas glimpsed to the south, the border of India
- not far away. Got a flat. There must be a thorn sticking through my front
tire. I'm pooped. So, I'm resting here tomorrow and will explore the ruins of
the ancient Toling monastery - though nobody seems to know where it is. My
handbook has a good description of the site. More clothes to wash tomorrow
morning. Photographers must come here to experience a foretaste of heaven. I'll
try not to waste too much film. This town of Tsamda, (Toling), is pretty -
perched high above the river on a flat sort of sandy ledge. Springs and wells
(artesian) allow life to flourish here. Lots of Chinese soldiers and police -
the usual way to employ people. Restaurants full of men eating together. All
the officials here are men. Not a mosquito in sight. This place is supposed to
be at 3660 metres. God, I can't imagine how high up it was that I camped two
nights ago - must have been 5000 metres. Anyway - very warm here in Toling.
Lots of local folk on the streets. There's a homey old monastery on the other
side of the hotel. Have to explore the whole place tomorrow, maybe climb up
onto the ridge, but I won't have the energy. Only need to stock up on food and
ride to Tsaparang the day after tomorrow, camp there, take photos, and crawl
back. I'll have about a week to try reaching Kailash then. Everything is fine,
except I noticed my chest is coughy and some pussy phlegm came up, so I'll have
to take some antibiotics just to be safe. The hotel is busy! Loads of locals
and a few tourist landcruisers. It is funny how these rich tourists always hire
an extra truck to carry all their stuff: people cannot leave their homes
behind. I'm quite comfortable with my bike... But it's so tiring, and keeping
clean is quite a challenge! Washed my hair today - first time in over a week
started singing a little song before my tire went flat... "Digger didn't hang
around after..." That's not it. It was about getting rid of some extra also-ran
like myself. Now how did it go? "Digger felt a little thirsty after, so he took
a drink, but he didn't hang around, he wasn't the type." That's still not how
it went. Well, I forgot the song when the tire went flat. Put in a new tube,
and this one is doing the same. Maybe the sun will remind me about the way I
was singing today. Jazz numbers have a way of writing themselves as the mood
feels - them and you in the same instant. Getting on to ten p.m. - and my whole
body feels like sleep... Forgot to note one thing: three different odors. The
first was lovely - a fine white flower blooming high up at the beginning of the
canyon. Then a pointy leaved very dark plant: it smelled tangy, heavy but not
anywhere near sweet. Then came the bitter aroma of the thistly evergreen
thickets before the Sutlej. I'm reading the book now, and will wander about the
monastery grounds tomorrow with my camera, tripod and some candles.
I
didn't quite get to Guge tomorrow; at least not precisely on time. The bank
gave the wrong distances twice as far, and I failed to see the monastery only
six kilometers off the main road. The only advantage of riding too far was the
extremely high vantage point I got over the canyons. Had I kept on this
direction, I would reach the Indian border in only a couple of days, but I
doubt if the road goes that far. Anyway, I finally camped out around 5:00 P.M.
yesterday, on a super grassy spot beside some grazing horses. The Sutlej river
valley is actually very beautiful, simply on account of all the green grass,
thistles and poplars. Above, the golden canyons rise up and mornings and late
afternoons are especially wonderful. Plenty of little birds sing all day long.
Few people actually live out here, however, perhaps a dozen families. Nobody
seems to mind my camping out at all. An elderly lady came by to inspect my
place and seemed to approve of my being here. Woke up very early this morning
to walk up the ravine to visit Guge city. What a magnificent site. Only wish
one could see the place exactly as it was during its heyday. I met the aging
caretaker in his neat little house beside the fortress. After patiently waiting
for him to finish his breakfast of tsampa and tea - he gave me some tea, too,
he tried on my glasses and discovered we are both nearly as near-sighted. Then
he offered to take me up to the chapels inside the big gate. I got some good
photos even though I wasn't supposed to take any. He let me walk up alone the
rest of the way, and I explored the place for five hours all together. The
years, three centuries of abandonment, have taken their toll on the sandstone
walls. A least most of the temples are still intact, and some of the superb
statues inside. The paintings: you could spend all day studying them. The North
Indian influence is very apparent in many of the figures, and a lot of typical
Tibetan imagery prevails in the finer details. I found the cave temple on top
unlocked and, using a candle managed to get some close-ups of the paintings...
I walked back down, said hello to an American-looking couple with their guide.
Must be an expansive way to travel. Returning to my tent, I found three little
girls gathering wood, so I gave them some candy. Had noodles and a hotdog for
lunch and then discovered my rear tire hard a thistle in it! Watched by the
little girls and a young fellow who walked up carrying a bundle of thistles for
fire, I fixed the tire. Then I accompanied them back to the village of
Tsaparang - consisting of maybe ten houses and a two-room school. the fellow
who was carrying the wood turned out to live next door to school, and he is the
local teacher. I think summer holidays are on now...
I'm writing these
pages sitting in his modest one room home adjacent to the school house. He has
two beds, a settee, a large cabinet painted orange and green and golden yellow,
with vases of flowers and lovely birds. Above the cabinet is a collection of
personal photos of him and his pals and family. He's got a ghetto-blaster and
four empty bottles filled with artificial flowers and a few sunflowers. He's
got a sturdy cast-iron stove and a few thermoses and pans, and two coffee
tables in the middle of the room. Not much else but a fluorescent and an
incandescent bulb. He gave me some peas and a little girl who is hanging
around, too. She's reading a book, whispering to herself. I'm a little drowsy
and it is too hot outside to go back to my tent right away. I must get up early
tomorrow and go back 13 kilometres to Tsamda, eat some breakfast, buy some more
noodles, some soap and ride slowly back out of the canyons. Here the elevation
is around 3700 metres, and the main road must be well over 4000. I can probably
make it back to the intersection. The next day I'll head over some lower passes
to Bao Er camp and the main road to Darchen. Yesterday, I met a young guy from
Lhasa named Pasang - he was guiding some tourists around and leaving Tsamda. He
did give me his phone numbers and I told him when I'd probably reach Lhasa. The
first week of September... I do not really want to leave this idyllic piece of
Sutlej valley, but I really need to get to Kailash, visit the Manasovar Lake
and then go looking for a truck to Saga... I've been on this road just over a
month, and I'm still away in the west of Tibet. I've planned the rest of my
route now, and arranged all the central Tibet maps so I can take in some lakes,
Sakya monastery, Zhigatse, Gyantse, Everest, Lhodrak, then up to Chongye,
Tsetang, Podrang - then hopefully back along the river to visit Samye,
Mindroling and other points along the way around to Lhasa. I think the photos I
got of Guge should be fine, and I may clamber back up to get a sunset angle if
the ol' sun is shining at 6:30.
Left Tsaparang yesterday and after
brunch and grocery shopping, made it to the fresh water spring 13 kilometers
below the junction. But not before repairing my front tire twice due to
thistles. With animals last night, around midnight... Wild donkeys barrelassing
down the road, as if they were being chased by something. Perhaps they were
chasing each other! Many thoughts today, as I climbed up one ravine and rode
over to the next one. At least there is plenty of water on this highland. The
view is phenomenal - as I ride east and north - the Himalaya rises suddenly up
behind the Sutlej canyons, and the mountains really are incredibly tall! Right
now I'm camped on one of the rolling foothills below the ridge separating this
road from the main east/west route to the northeast. Should reach it tomorrow
or day after. Still four days to Kailash. No traffic on this road at all - saw
two landcruisers and some nomads, and their tents... Resolved to write on
different subjects tonight (which I thought of while cycling today)... For
example, because I hadn't really verified that this road goes where I think it
goes (according to inaccurate descriptions in my guidebook). I wanted to ask
someone if I was on the right road! So I want to ask a shepherd girl I see a
couple of hours later... She starts running away as I try walking across the
meadow - waving and saying, "hello!" That girl wasn't the only one to run
away... I came to a bridge and two boys stood up to see me (they were looking
through the spaces between the planks.) they ran away, and a nearby teenage
girl appeared from under the bridge and ran with them. Obviously, the local
nomads do not see any foreigners who are not locked up safely in a
landcruiser... Finally, an adult comes walking up and he isn't afraid. He
explains that I'm on the correct road after all. The girl reapproaches, but not
interested in me - instead, she joins the guy up on the bridge to look at my
bike. I should be a machine, too! Also saw running away: six prairie birds, who
took off when I started walking at them with my camera. 4 horses and ran from
me as I passed. That's what happened only today! Other subjects I want to write
about: schedule - no computers in the morning - only the evening (so I can get
my writing done again). The novel ideas... Felt that the title for my sci-fi
story... now excluding earthlings... could simply be expressed by two names
(one for each group), separated by a slash /. Also was remembering how, when my
brothers were more adventurous years ago, they wanted to rent a train car in
India and travel around the whole country could actually make a good plot... an
eccentric goes on the trip and gradually acquires an entourage.. then the
practical questions arise even as relationships grow between the various odd
characters (locals and foreigners) he collects on the way. Other topics:
compare the philosophic intrigue of Hinduism, Buddhism and Christianity... My
current vote goes to Hinduism even though I'm not up on Buddhist philosophy.
Explain later. Getting sleepy now. Too sleepy - must write again tomorrow.
I wish I was dead. The Chinks have stolen Tibet like stealing candy
fro a baby. Before I leave this shitty place, I'm going to mail six goat turds
to Jiang Zu Min and six empty candy wrappers to the Dalai Lama. I guess I just
don't qualify as a "friend of Tibet". I thought I was rich enough, and kind
enough. But I guess not. Before I leave, I'd really like to throw a couple of
full beer bottles at some army trucks... I crawled up the fucking ravines
yesterday only to cross over from sunny, warm Tsamda county into freezing,
freezing and rainy who the fuck knows what county. So here I am, riding down,
listening to big-brother's pre-recorded taunts, and the, what happens... I find
a yurt beside the road and inconspicuously invite myself in. A very nice
family. I converse with them, and I give their two cute children some snacks.
During the night, they steal 600 yuan from my money belt as I sleep - which I
mistakenly put into my yellow jacket and hung up to dry. Tibet is dead. The
people are ruined. As I left the pleasant thieves, I was reminded that I don't
belong here. Now all I have is 800 cash to get to Zhigatse, where I can cash a
check. Either that or head to Nepal and forget everything. I don't know what to
do. It depends on if I can get a cheap ride to Saga from Darchen. But I doubt
if I can, so I will have to skip Mt. Everest or go to Nepal. Nothing feels more
deflating than people who don't care, or who believe that you don't care about
anything.
Of course, the very poor see things differently - they just
feel a need and take what you can spare - at least they didn't take all my
money. Can't go to the police in this lousy China. Maybe they are right... I
don't care, I don't belong here. Maybe we should let this place alone, let the
chinks fuck it over for good. I really want to destroy something. Like the
plate glass door to the new office tower in Taipei which contains substandard
and poors. I want to die. I'm tired of listening to big brothers' voices all
the time. I want to be alone. I don't care if I'm selfish. I let go of my
attachments everyday. That's the only good thing about Buddhist philosophy. The
underlying emptiness shit is all nonsense... But the painful thing right now
was seeing those cute children... and the abortion I forced Kate to have. I
deserve to go to hell. That, I don't care about... But hurting that poor woman
Kate... I'm wrong and I know it. So what? The whole world is fucked and mean. I
want to die. I want to be alone forever. All is wrong. Nature will destroy
humanity. That's good! I'm not the one they need. I'm an artist. They want
goofy, lousy, greedy businessmen and stupid grunts. No artists anymore. Just
computer turds, clay-head corporate clones and shitty lying fake commercial
hack writers and painters. All is lost and who gives a fuck?
Cheer up.
It may be cold and raining, and both of my bike wheels may be ruined, but at
least I've found a truck ride to Saga, and it is the 31st of August. I was 50
kilometres short of Darchen when the broken spoke created an impossible
wobble... Not only that, but the monsoon decides to prefer the mountains and
valley above the Sutlej. Low heavy cloud banks hid the mountains like a secret.
I was getting pretty wet. Then a truck came along which I waved down and the
driver helped me lift the bike up to the back, heave-ho and off we went into
the gloom. Kailash was fairly invisible when we reached Darchen village. I
immediately sat down to a dinner of noodles and yang ro. Met a brassy British
fellow travelling with an odd California woman. Pleasant to be among cheerful
if not too cynical people ( the whole world has gone a little bit sour these
days... and everyone else has either a better bike wheel or camera...) Anyway,
it was so cold in Darchen. At least my sleeping bag was dry. I was up fairly
early the next day, looking for a ride down to Lake Manos, and found one. Also
got a novel from the English guy by Scotsman Torrington, "swing hammer swing"
and it is certainly well-written and even funny. So there I am, standing on the
bus with a whole group of pilgrim Hindus from all over India, a few middle
class and rich ones and over twenty Sadduus, scantily dressed and ready to be
rained on by the 5000 meter monsoon... Wow, what tough nuts... We arrive at
Hore town and put up at the local truck dive. Then I discover that my wheel has
been crunched on the roof rack - but the front one this time... So I realize
that it is necessary to go to Zhigatse or all the way to Lhasa to get wheels.
(I'll have to buy a whole bike or something - that is if you can find a
ten-speed in Lhasa, ha, ha.)
So the Indian group are all vegetarians
and very generous to me. I get some cookies out but they wouldn't take them.
Everyone is very talkative, yet I'm still the shy retiring type who enjoys
going off with my book to the room. I did befriend an interesting lady, perhaps
the same age as myself, and she told me about her career as an English teacher
and how everyone but her father thinks she is crazy to go off on the Shiva
pilgrimage. Kailash is "the Crown of Shiva." Her name is S----- and she has two
young daughters. The other character is Nalin and he was the generous guy -
giving me rice and noodles and tomato soup. S----- lent me 300 yuan after I
told her all about being deprived of 600, etc... I'll mail it back to her. The
Indian group all got up very early this morning and went for a long walk (the
fellows were riding ponies) around Lake Manas. Brrr... Only an hour after they
set out, it started to rain steadily. I kept snug, reading in bed... Yesterday
I was able to wash clothes, but was too lazy to scrub myself. Well now, all
this boring detail without philosophical tangents is too boring! Let me recall
the original idea... Gloss, gloss, gloss... Shows...
The line I'm
struggling to reawaken... three seasons of spirit cannot enlighten me. I
imagine I'm free of the age's cynicism - but perhaps I'm responsible for them.
The other day I found myself wishing for an alumni library card so I could
finish reading those obscure works of ageless philosophy. I wonder how long it
will be before the whole world books is available online..? The line does not
return. Today I read five hours, perhaps six or seven - from five in the
morning. I also packed up my stuff and then went for a stroll to look at the
stuff for sale in the few tents in the strung-out village of Hore. As I was
reaching the shops, a truck and three jeeps drove up. Another group of Indians
doing the tour... This group also has hired four Nepalese fellows to pitch
tents and cook, and they are very sharp cookies. One guy, only 21, and I
immediately struck up a friendship, and I'll get his address, too. He lives
with his mother and three sisters at the foot of the Himalayas. His father is a
goner but was Tibetan. He can earn about 300 U.S. dollars for a month's work
helping with the tour group. Maybe I can visit the county where he lives next
year. (Also promised to mail photos to the other Indian guys from the first
group...) All is well, but it's frigid out here on the way to Mayum La pass. We
ought to make it at about 9:00 A.M. or so. Supposedly, attacking the moss early
is a really good way not to get stuck this time of year...
We ought to
reach Saga in a day and a half. From that point, it should be pretty easy to
find some transport on to Zhigatse and Lhasa... By the way, on the back of the
truck with us is a pretty young Tibetan girl with her hair decorated in
turquoise and orange chola stones - expensive in Nepal apparently... Also a guy
who says he is Belgian, but sounds Russian, with a terrible way of looking down
on everything - like so many other goddamn travellers today. Oh yes, and a very
quiet Chinese lady with an old-fashioned broad-brimmed hat... I can hear the
Indians enjoying their meal and I'm supposed to go get some soup before the guy
brings it to me! (Can't forget the young Nepalese guy's stories about having to
port the Indians over a river plus their oxygen...) Just had dinner with
everyone in the dining tent. Met K----, a young woman in her mid-twenties who
has cooperated with the Nepalese and Tibetans to organize this tour. She is a
spark and a half with a masters in English lit from Bombay, unmarried and doing
her own thing... I hope to get her address before we part company tomorrow
night... Possibly, if I can keep it touch with these folks, I can even
endeavour to organize a tour group from Taiwan and get ahead for a change...
K----'s a sexy good-looker according to everyone in the work party...
Here we all are, trapped by a broken wheel, caught by the presumption
of destiny, awaiting the strength of a hammer blow strong enough to dislodge a
broken axle stem. People here have to believe in something and even though I
can be likeable, maybe my appearance is a jinx in the silly, worried minds of
my Nepalese companions. The truck axle snapped at 9:00 A.M. and the repair
attempt dragged out through the afternoon. After disassembling the transaxle
and the driveshafts, some other truckers happened along and helped to try
hammering out the broken spindle. No luck. Nothing to do. I helped the guy
unscrew and reassemble the new drive axle. By the way, another eastbound truck
stopped to give us a spare axle... We're in bed now so that we can get up early
and try again. Meanwhile, maybe the team leader has sent to Darchen for another
truck... The rest of the group, including K---- and all the Indians are unaware
of our plight and are probably in a guesthouse at Saga, some 200 k's up the
road. They apparently don't have much Chinese money on them. Strange
disorganization, that. If everything comes up, we'll be moving tomorrow, but
who knows? The group here is treating me and the other foreigner from Belgium
royally - actually, he is not such a bad guy after all, and he's been relating
adventure stories about travels through Russia and Ukraine... One good method
of getting from Taiwan to Moscow, instead of the "cheap" Vietnam Air flight, is
to hop to Yokahama - take a boat to a place near Vladivostok, and then either
fly or train to Moscow. With the devaluation of the ruble, the flights on
Aeroflot are apparently unbelievably inexpensive. All I have to do is figure
out how to get Nick to sponsor or "invite" me to go. This trip would be fun for
someone like little Kate... take two bikes and journey all the way to Moscow -
boat and train, then cycle round the country, or at least train to St.
Petersburg, and then make our way to Ukraine and then figure out how to get
home - maybe fly back to Vladivostok from Moscow, etc... That would make a
great summer holiday next year. Also, I hope and pray that I can find two
wheels in Zhigatse or Lhasa, and I'm really thinking, after a round about to
Samye, Mindroling and Yarlung - Chongye, head south all the way to Nepal and
fly back to Taiwan from Delhi, just south, stopping en route at Kathmandu and
Varinassi... Hope and good companionship are looking happy. People were
laughing today - machine!
(About yesterday - forgot two things...
lunch-time, I went over with the Tibetans in our group, got a few good
close-ups of local folk. Then we had lunch in a Tibetan yurt, and it was the
most delicious yogurt I've had in a long time, along with steamed rice. The
weather was coming and going all day yesterday - sometimes it was raining and
very odd, and then the sun came out in early afternoon. So we dried out all our
tents and sleeping things... I had a naked bath in the freezing river and
washed my hair and body very nicely...)
Two days of waiting is over.
Travelling ought not be waiting, but in the world's most sparsely populated
area south of the Arctic circle, it came easily. Waiting for the unlikely
truck. As might be expected, the trucker's talk brought along an empty truck at
about 5:00 P.M. yesterday. Nobody but I had any substantial piece of change to
hire it! So, I agreed to pay half the one thousand they wanted, told by the
crew of Nepalis that the main driver (stuck at Saga with the Indian group, and
also waiting) had the supply of petty cash, ha, ha. We drove all night and
arrived at Saga at 9:00 A.M., surprisingly fast. The night ride was pretty
cold, as it rained for awhile, and I draped my tent over my knees... Things
became complicated on arrival of course... Thubten, the Lhasa guide, had no
extra money (having gambled it away - according to the anxious-to-get-going
tourists from India!) Anyway, I was not about to pay anymore and wrote up a
simple I.O.U. which I had K---- and Thubten sign. He gave me the phone number
and address of the Lhasa travel company responsible for the tour (subcontracted
to the Indian and Nepalese ones...) Hopefully, I can get the 400 yuan when I
get to Lhasa in a week or so... I'm travelling along with Miguel, since he is
low on cash, and we are heading to Zhigatse, a city of 250,000 people. We
should be able to find a ride in a day or so. We're lodged at the cute Tibetan
hotel here at Saga. We have to get up early in the morning so we can find a
ride. Not so many trucks at all. But it's not expensive here, so we should be
okay. I am really looking forward to visit the monastery at Zhigatse, seat of
the disputed Panchen Lama. The current boy lama chosen with help by the Dalai
Lama, is named Nyima, and he's under house arrest in Beijing! The one support
by the Chinese government is doing well, but only signifies a clever ploy to
make the Panchens replace the Dalais, so the puppetship of the Tibetan nation
can be completed. Bla Bla... I'm pretty tired, having slept only a few hours
last night, hunched over like an old Mexican under his sombrero... Guess I'll
just read my novel for awhile, drink beer and munch on sunflower seeds.
To continue. After deep sleep in Saga, we (Miguel and I), finally
waited long enough to catch a big empty truck driven by a Tibetan guy and a
Chinese fellow. We agreed to pay 300 yuan to Zhigatse, some 450 kilometres up
the road... The day began very hot and sunny, and I never want to wait for a
truck again... I rode on the back until late in the day when we arrived at a
sort of commune place with a few shops. The truck back-tracked a few kilometres
to pick-up a pile of sand, probably for mixing with cement. The truck driver
slept while his Chinese partner urged on three Tibetan workers to shovel shovel
all the stuff into the back of the truck. It began to rain and it got cold.
Poor guys. The Chinese trucker forced the men to keep shovelling despite the
rain and the cold. After about two or three hours, we continued driving. Night
fell on us as we began climbing another pass... As bad luck would have it for
us, we were almost at the top of the pass when, through the drizzle, we spotted
a stuck truck (rhymes with muck!) Such an everyday occurrence is this, that the
fellows in our own truck displayed no surprise or agitation. The night cold
gripped our limbs and I unfurled my tent and it warmed a little. The driver was
immediately asleep, but he kept making the strangest "ohhing" noises along with
his every breath. "Mo-guay Miguel" was pretty irritated by this racket and kept
whacking and slept like a heap of cramped up nerves forgetful of pain. Morning
cam and truck unstuck. Six or seven trucks behind us and about five from the
other direction, waiting. Not long after the morning freed us, we met a big
muck-hole trapping several trucks in succession alongside a river... Well, wait
again for the team to dig out the ruts... time to trim the moustache above the
lip... On we went by mid-afternoon... Then we had to wait for another hour and
a half behind a truck with a stymied drive axle. On we went again; our average
speed was about 5 kilometres per hour - if you divided by 24 hours... We had
come along 130 kilometres. At last we climbed out of all the valleys and
cruised along the extraordinarily beautiful plateau to Samsang, which welcomed
us with a great rainbow. Behind us, the sunlight turned all golden before
evening, and beyond the glowing Earth the sky was lived, a gray wash with some
light rays sprouting from the shield of cloud like a sprig of silvery sky
stems, the blossom being the rainbow...
Pig dinner and I got angry at
Miguel for not paying his share. Then he did. Obviously, a victim of
authoritarianism or carelessness. Met with the drivers and they drove fast from
dusk till midnite. We woke up an innkeeper in a lovely country hamlet -
apparently some hotsprings nearby... Morning and a photo of rape-seed...
Truckers didn't want to get up early. They tried to explain that we could not
proceed to Lhartse until evening since the police watched the trucks at a
check-point to make sure that nobody gets through "riding..." Weird. But we
didn't understand what they were talking about... Then a police guy
(apparently) showed up to remind the truckers not to take us to Lhartse..
Fucking dim-head authoritarian Chinese... I pushed the cop, so pissed off was I
for him scaring the drivers... But it is a well-known thing - this police
checkpoint. Anyway, we unloaded our stuff and within the next two hours hopped
a "passenger" truck to Zhigatse. Actually, this turned out to be our slowest
ride, since the driver had to take care for his passengers on the back, and
because the road wandered from a valley and pass into a river bed! We got stuck
twice and pulled ourselves out with a long tu-of-war rope! Cool, not cold,
night came on and we snailed up from the river rocks to Lhartse county town -
Chushar. Here the street lights actually function! Short sleep in the county
guesthouse and we almost got away without paying for the bus. The driver nabbed
me this morning, August 7th, as I rubber-necked for a truck at the gas station.
Despite the fact Miguel only eats coca-cola, he owes me 15 for the ride,
another 11 for lunch, plus 13 for dinner - a total of about 39 yuan...
Zhigatse. Here we are, finally. A four day trip took us over one week
from Darchen... This morning I roused Miguel when I spotted the buses parked on
the road. Tied securely on the roof-rack, we were speeding to Zhigatse at just
after eight a.m. and the maniacal driver carried us here, over paved and sandy
roads, past valleys full of rape-seed yellow and barley waves... people waving
and helloing too, especially the kids beside the road... past the white and
black plaster of permanent farmsteads, past the summer purple and pink fields
of flowers and trees - at last... we trundled into Zhigatse, stopping in front
at the Orchid hotel, just across the street from the grand monastery
Tashilhunpo. Immediately after checking into the hotel, I went for a long walk
in search of bicycle doctors and spare parts... I found little at first.
Zhigatse really is a mixture of Tibetan and Chinese things. New buildings seem
white and blue with windows... The old Tibetan wings of the town surrounding
the new inner streets - these old buildings have a substantial, thick-walled
quality about them. I love the way the white walls are accented by the black,
angled lintels and side-frames, the delicate window panes framed in wood. Lots
to explore here. The golden-roof monastery, the markets... After walking for
some time, I discovered the biggest bike shop in town. The nice fellow there
suggested I bring in my crippled bike for an attempt at repair. He does have a
Shanghai twelve speed which I may have to buy for the wheels of nothing else.
Hammering on the front twist seems unlikely anyway. After sneaking into the
monastery tomorrow, and some photography and a close look at the chapels and a
listen to the litany and chanting, I guess I'll wander with the bike to the
shop and say my own special prayers about it all...
Technocracy wins.
Art dies. Even my dreams wake me up. The seeds of my failure sprung into full
grown distress. In my dream I visited Mei-Mei, but she had changed and I
couldn't recognize her. Somehow her hair was falling out and she looked like
someone else. The doctor wouldn't comment. She wanted any new shoe except the
ones in her mom and pop's shop - all of these made of some synthetic rubbery
material. Avez-vous un cigarette? Mais, oui! The world still doesn't want an
"in"? Nobody knows what an "in" artist is... Could somebody please explain to
me how and why the age does not want to think about itself, or anything
important at all - unless it's ground through the technocratic printing press
first? I cannot find a publisher for my fine, insightful fiction - although my
work is very fine, full of critical insight. When fine-tuned, even my short
stories are undeniably excellent... At the end of her dream, a diminutive
Mei-Mei resumed her old beautiful self, and she came crying, her face buried in
my heart. That's it. I should be buried at the heart of my unanswered question.
A woman can devote herself to love because faith, belief - and trust, the love
and loving deeply come most easily to woman. Perhaps woman has a supernatural,
an innate understanding of natural ways, which men will not realize... All my
supposed quest for freedom turns out to be - at least - in the eyes of
womankind - some sort of flight, an inability to realize that function, purpose
and destiny can be reconciled in one easy-to-live-with formula, that home and
family are the natural way to an economical happiness, a comfortable
stability... a breeding rationale, a path to quietism - acceptance of destiny,
whatever... Read into your dreams what you will - for they only show what you
are already aware of, and know about yourself and others, even as you are - we
all are - afraid to admit it. Just as the rich from the developed world
overlook our pecuniary interests because we imagine that we have higher ideals
inspiring nobler passions (which pretend that we are above worry and petty
travail) - the poor man from the undeveloped world sees only that he cannot
afford to dream about what the rich man takes for granted. Like fixing my bike
wheel. I may have to buy a whole new bicycle just to get the wheels! Hopefully
a hammer and crafty tools can save the day instead!
The administration
of things ruins them. Not a very complete aphorism, that. But my inklings are
usually on the right track. For example: if you wanted to truly update
philosophy, then you have to look first at the world at present and ask
yourself what is missing... many things are lost to our contemplation - perhaps
because we are too afraid to own up to both our deeper knowledge as well as our
responsibility for seeing, allowing - making humanity into a monstrous tool of
misguided ideas of supremacy, expediency - the obvious euphemisms of the
political/national religions which have supplanted the inspired humility of
divine faiths... To give up belief in god was one fast route to the kind of
psychopathic ability, rationale and action of easy, careless murder... When
mind imagines that an idea is superior to what we have always recognized as
(let me think) "natural truths" - then humanity becomes a stupid monster and
our actions lack morality and the ideas (nationalism, communism, democracy)
prevent us from realizing how wrong things can go... So in fact - to update
philosophy requires a deeper multi-part look at various key themes in the
present scheme of civilization's awry and sensible elements. The idea of
history, and its actual function and process should be examined in the context
of all the dominant transitions in the intellectual history of
conceptualization: identifying what history was, how it presently seems, and
why some ideas are no longer meaningful - that is a worthwhile effort. Perhaps
in the same, or adjacent essay - a look at racialism, political religion,
nationalism and technocratized rationalization should be studied with a view to
getting at the heart and soul of how we do things today - how we think them
through so we can motivate ourselves past doubt and disbelief... seeing through
the simple-minded simplicity of an "american belief" should arrive at a very
difficult and complicated reason for its arising in a simple way in the first
place...
Other works in this theme-series must look at the relationship
of knowledge and awareness to our ideas of human identity and the consequences
of our scientific and technical "mastery" for our deeper insights about
morality. At the same time, some attempt, in a sort of smirking aside, can be
made at explaining the causes and consequences of scientific and intellectual
specialization... how our tunnel visions lead us into a hapless and
irresponsible (amoral) escapism: the wrongest and worst are the greatest
specialists - and they always always realize that their drives are mercenary
and murderous AFTER the damage is done. Comfort is usually a temporary thing,
and in the case of intellectual pursuits, the bedclothes almost always are
flung away and shivering reality turns as a realization that our illusions are
reasons for doing wrong. To pretend we don't know is still to know - deeply,
really - inside the blocked centers of our silent conscience... This whole
analysis of the essential structure of technocracy - ultramodern
intellectuality, the direction and tenor of our beliefs - then - ought to lead
to a weighty tome about the plight of humanity, including an outline of our
various problems and concerns - real and imaginary - which are leading us along
the scent-lines of our suspicions about truth and "destiny" to arrive at
various explanations of acceptable and intolerable concepts of our ultimate
ends. Problems and concerns, of course, include our ever-widening range of
issues - many of them physical realities - like the destruction of the
environment by human mastery, the book could delve into the more reflective
tangents on this - like original concepts of human (biblical) mastery as
god-defined (human-imagined) and the more recent consequences of human mastery
as detached from thoughtful plan and responsibility, etc... Also the range of
problems and concerns should be wide enough to include enough different
examples, from physical to aesthetic, from scientific to emotional instinct,
from everyday irritations to global crises, from happy new discoveries to
dangerous weapons, from royal privilege to trammeled rights, from the reality
of limitation to the illusion of supremacy... Plights - problems, concerns...
all of this big noise should, in turn, lead to another tome called "Solutions."
Why do we need them, what are they, how can we cooperate to achieve them. My
brain and hand are perhaps more interested in analyses and explanation than
trying to personally achieve the necessary know-how - but know-how - the nature
of it - at least I can try to explain its causes and effects, if you will...
Really - what remains but to figure out (or, admit) what I am most interested
in doing... I want to look at the state of our imagination - our cultural
identities, our wins and losses - our whole great and small self-conception,
our contexts of realization and moral perspective - the relationship between
our aspiration and the physical constraints and unlimited (simultaneous)
potentials of harnessing imagination to nature... Also a study of the key
concepts and predominant communal obsessions and phenomenon of our time - from
the cults of personality to worry about the weather - from the love and hate
for brilliant men and women, as well as the fear and denial of our mistakes,
especially as embodied by evil-doers. Also, a look at how thinkers have helped
us to advance our civilization and how misunderstanding or misinterpretation of
our thinkers can lead to their being reviled or abused by idiots. So many tomes
to write instead of sitting on the bicycle. But to get the time and money to
write all of this (and more - which I have yet to outline in detailed form in a
separate notebook)... I must work for a year, or perhaps start a campaign of
quiet terrorism to extort enough cash from the corporate cowards to get it
done. I will not be allowed to be part of a comfortable sedate university, no
quiet summer garden in Wittenburg for me... Alas - how can I write as I wish to
be free to write? Surely I must leave my lovers and forget everything, give up
everything if I want to write...
Other tomes to leave behind my
comparative affliction: What is Art? what is art not? what is it to believe in
a meaningful life? Can we explain why the seeds we sow are more or less
reflective of our self-creative, family-inevitable (destinies) (wishes) or
(condemnations - self and other-directed/inspired)... What is so important
about Responsibility? (A good title for a Bertrand Russell style ramble into
the weeds of history from which we might laughably try explaining why the
existentialists got so entangled by the fronds of distress first planted by
Nietzsche, Kierkegaard - even others long before like Hume, Voltaire, Pascal.)
Again, compare the spiritual aura of Buddhism and Hinduism to the flatland of
Christianity - note the philosophic consequences of Buddhism's and Hinduism's
long history of commentary in relation to Christianity's lack of commentary -
with the forgotten exception of Swedenbourg and that other, the "imitation of
Christ" - the only two concerted efforts really that I'm allowed to be aware
of: What is the difference between a divinely "given" piece of writing, like
the scriptures of the bible - and the work of a mere commentator? Clearly men
wrote the bible - only we forget this for the sake of our Need for Strong
faiths: tome #6 - what is the significance of faith to humanity, history and
our builders and murderers of civilization? Good theme. Another tome #7 or #8 -
what is the role of theme and forms in the schematic of inspiring us with
systems of belief and morality, meaning and identity? Are people merely an
accumulation of repeated sayings transformed into grand credos and stabilized,
that is - recognizable "shapes" of human ideas and cities and creeds and
philosophical systems: the heart of many matters is to arrive at the ability to
say what is substantive and why we believe so: what is imaginary and outside of
our ability ought to occupy some other dimensions foreign to our experiences...
in some other universe, perhaps - so we return to the study of how our
intellectual forms - including our relationship to our precursors - triumphs -
and the collective mistakes civilizations have made - how these forms of
association, acceptance and rejection, beginning, middle and ending - as well
as the key components of intellectuality itself - analysis, synthesis and
critical attention - inspiration, thought, dream and emotion... combine to
create the forms of our natural (intelligent) wishes - wishes for progress,
love, happiness, giving, agreeing and living well - being peaceful, content and
compassionately interested in all things...
Stop. Think of some more
volumes to write in the next life tomorrow... Perhaps the nature of aesthetics
- is the nature of imagination discovering reality - therefore - what is the
experience of life to inspire the imagination of a novel world of fiction...
One truth is obvious: life leads us to art. Why do we need to write novels -
does the vanity fall beneath the genius - who is unconcerned about everything -
in a very genuine way - everything except being able to express, create and
complete a portrayal of his/her world at that moment - forever an accurate idea
of the time and place, like Dostoyevsky wished to do, and probably feared to
fail... Working hard at art may only be a desperate wish to know some truth and
convey it beyond the weak, fleet moments, too brief... 36 and I haven't written
enough, nor well enough to be called a good man - much less a fine artist...
Philosophy - these many ideas for large works that I have just outlined - that
and they are only a comfortable retreat for my aspirations. Of course I dream
of the wondrous novel, the set of novels, each unique and original and full of
ideas that nobody else quite thought about that way before... This morning is
August 8th, and I am writing because it is raining and too cool outside to take
pictures of search for a breakfast shop... When I get home I must make and
fulfill my new schedule 7 - 12, writing fiction, 1 - 3 CD rom travelogue, or
should I write: 7 - 12: writing fiction and essays. I have to get an
afternoon/evening teaching job I think... Also, I must make a list of projects
and do them in order - like a science fiction novel, 1, short stories, 2, then
alternate from writing one to the other, if possible. Priority, anyway - has
after lunch, so. Have to get up, wash some clothes, take apart the bike enough
to wheel it over to the shop across Zhigatse... Eat breakfast before you start
work unless you want to write too fast!!!
It costs at least twice as
much to stay in a city like Lhasa as it does to cycle around the country. I've
already been here for a whole week, and, at least, some good things have
happened, namely, having found somebody with a tool to remove the mystery
freewheel: the spokes are replaced and the wheel is trued. I can travel again,
but only when the weather warms up... It turned rainy two days ago, and it is
frustrating. I have already bought my plane ticket for Chengdu, having decided
against going on to Nepal and India - due to time and limited funds... I'll fly
on the 3rd to China and try to go back to HK by the next day and home before
the 7th. I have about two weeks left to make a loop around sites south of
Lhasa, hopefully beginning with the monasteries in the side-valleys off the
Yangpo River (Tsangpo?) and then, out to Tsetang, head south for Lhodrak and
some of the famous monasteries there, along with the lovely pine forests...
Then, I'll ride north, up to Yamdrok Tso, boating out to a small monastery on
the island there... before returning to Lhasa, if necessary, on the 1st of
September or earlier. Kate is lonely without me and she really wants me back!
Poor kid. I guess I can do nothing but try to be good to her. I want to go
travelling with her next summer, and surely she'll go for the idea.. Thinking
of boating to Japan and cycling through the islands until the boat for Russia.
Once in Russia, we get a train for Baikal and Moscow - have I written this
earlier already? Then on to the Ukraine, etc...
Lhasa is divisible by
two: the old town and the new. The old town is called the Barkhor and the new
is the same as any regular Chinese development. The Barkhor is made of sturdy
stone and plastered white brick buildings, all with the very characteristic
heavy block lintels... The buildings have a permanent aura about them, like the
old cities of Europe... Of course, the town teems with schools of tourists, of
all dispositions - wealthy retired Americans and Europeans, young Japanese and
Korean back-packers, plenty of English and American youngsters, and of course,
Chinese tour groups from all over. I'm ready to go, having bought my junk food
and cleaned up the bike. I've met interesting characters here. Hutch is an
aging American, sort of a copy of myself, fingers growing into many pies as the
focus is stolen, ha, ha... Not all discouraged and impoverished artists turn to
commercial pursuits. Hutch is my favorite kind of American, nevertheless. He
has his own mind - and is unafraid to hold definite opinions about his own
culture, well-informed and interested in human nature... may be able to
cooperate on a photo project next summer (of Mongolia) en route across Asia...
Feeling impatient today... wish the weather would change. I'm tired of noisy
city and hotel spending too much. Kate will wire me 250 U.S. dollars so I can
afford a few souvenirs and the plane ticket from Chengdu to HK... or Guangzhou.
I want to get moving. Good discussion with Hutch about travel
experiences - developing ideas for writing the analysis of inter-cultural
relations - especially the various predispositions - presumptions and
naive/subconscious "perceptions" Westerners have of poor folk - using my
experience of being "robbed" by the nomads - I can explain this variance in
living experience and contrast the different perceptions and endeavour to
explain them precisely! This portrait would include everything from emotional
responses, and how they change when our naive, comfortable world-view is
dispelled by that brief insight into the real Tibetan perspective. Later, there
is much room for deep analytical speculation on the nature of contemporary
colonialism and the especial varieties of "technocratic social/political
rationalizations" which occur everywhere all over the world... It will be a
fascinating and detailed piece of writing. My simple reporter's journal will be
transformed into a wide-ranging and timely piece of contemplation - a veritable
microcosm - the perfect vehicle for a deep study of present dilemmas and human
identities: the world leads us to become who we are - even if we are reluctant
to admit it...
I have more to record here... but my stomach, my poor,
weak Western stomach - how easily it gets hungry, spoiled - mean is our
cultural predisposition to complain for our unreal superiority! Putting
yourselves, in the shoes of the trodden over - an you really do that, and feel
the pain, the humiliation of incomprehension which is the experience of
injustice? The human race is one race, truly we are all of the same species -
our crimes are politics - the illusion of separate identity - the false need to
impose an alien wisdom upon the knowledge of those who know them already know
better...
To achieve the wise style for our era - that is my deep dream
- to fully, truly nutshell our present meaning - identity, along with accurate
explanation of all our problems, confusions - solutions - such an essay book is
my dream. Modern philosophy is so stale with specialization and enforced
historical vampirism - I want original philosophy. The grand synthesis of
history... I wan to be free to move from an analysis of language to the
relationship of our speech habits (and linguistic forms) to the very bedrock of
our deepest cultural truisms - the themes of our era lay laughing at us -
before our benighted misty-hypnotized
corporate/televised/insured/reduplicated/cynical/wise/eyes... Lunch for the
hearing impaired, a date with the crippled double of our back-sliding
conscience. I'd rather be on death row, and deserve it, than be waiting for the
respect of my betters, if there are any... Or - as they euphemistically quip
over my new 4 dollar radio... "It is very very dangerous on the ground,- but
really very safe up in the trees..."
Upon returning from cycle loop:
buy carpet - between restaurant and Jokhang (maybe); more stones - maybe a felt
outback hat; wooden bowl; or, deerskin boots - but that is bad! Look for
something special... Also, in Chengdu - black and white film... some books in
Hong Kong... I haven't even described the Johkang and Potala...
Tomorrow China's "minority games" begins, and the events held in Lhasa
are horse-racing and archery. Tomorrow I really want the sun to shine... What
am I going to do when I get back to Taipei? Write... Yes... As for work... I
don't know what I'll do...
At last, a smooth road to Gonghar. Rain all
morning and all the cyclists at the hotel - four Germans - very impatient to
get on the road! Noon brought sun and a 10 degree rise in temperature! By the
time I packed up and a 10 degree rise in temperature! By the time I packed up
and got going it was nearly 2:00 P.M. Nevertheless, the road was smooth and
dry. I made pretty fast time, averaging 15 to 20 kilometers per hour... Too
much truck traffic on the highway. It's lonely again. Poor Kate... She wants me
home again. I kept writing her soothing emails, with promises to go on a bike
trip with her next summer. She kept sending notes appended with photos of naked
Japanese girls. I guess that means she is starved.
I've been thinking
about the structure - mentally sketching an outline for the CD ROM travelogue,
etc... I've all sorts of ideas - for example, a silly title; "Tibet by the
short hairs." Actually, it can't be anything too serious either... It should be
unconventional - both in terms of form and content... For example, one part
should contain the full exposition of all thoughts and impressions about
travelling through Tibet as well as free flow tangents on anything and
everything - about life, dreams, whatever - this is the "informal travelogue."
As well, presentation of the photos and information about Tibet could be
divided into various sections, like: history, religion, people, places, issues,
Tibet resources today, and the latest Chinese rhetoric could be set back to
back with the latest ideas from the government in exile... A CD can hold an
awful lot of data. I also must remember to buy at least one or two local
tapes... I've got just two weeks now to circle around the most ancient
monasteries and sites of Tibet, and I have no idea if I can make it all the way
round Lhodrak as well, before returning to Lhasa. Kate has wired the money and
it will be waiting for me when I get back to Lhasa...
This morning I
visited several carpet shops in the old town. Careful examination of the
merchandise revealed that almost all of the carpets are imported from Gansu and
even Beijing... The prices on the carpets are very good - but somehow I think I
can get even better deals in Chengdu... Finally, there were a few shops selling
carpets actually made in Lhasa... they are half the price of the fine imports,
but may not appeal to everyone's taste.. bright orange (Halloween orange) wools
and either black or blue borders of shaggy wool... I'll make up my mind what to
buy when I return...
Tonight I'm bedding down at Gongkar monastery very
near to the airport. My eyelids are getting pretty weighty... Monks are nice at
this place: ate a snack and went through my phrasebook with one fellow... I'll
miss talking to people - especially Hutch the unfinished genius (like me) and
Michael - for his travel tales - and last night ran into Paul whom I originally
met at Ali. It'll be a quiet and lovely two weeks now. But I'm excited about
photo hunting and I really hope Mr. Sun decides to return from visiting his
cousin in yonder valley... Pleasant dreams!
Writing by candlelight. One
of the monks showed me around the Gongkar Monastery. He didn't seem to mind
unlocking all the doors. The monastery is a Sakya one. There are some very
scary and original murals inside, especially some depicting the agonies of
hell, which primarily seem to include disembowelment of the damned. Birds and
snakes and other animals also get a chance to dine on the entrails of the
damned. The Sakya monastery also has plenty of skull and fierce doorguard
imagery - one particularly ubiquitous fellow has three eyes and sort of looks
like Kate's father. Keep having amusing thoughts about making my detailed
travelogue: for example, "some of the world's worst asshole drivers can be
found in China - it's as if the monster behind the wheel of the VW resents your
presence on the road, and deliberately drives over into your lane to intimidate
you - After all, what is a police state all about?" Obviously, I've got to
divide my travelogue into two parts: correct and incorrect: and spell it out as
such.
I reached Mindroling late this afternoon: a lovely location
overlooking a green farming valley. Kids walked me up the steep hill below the
monastery. This place is a Nyingma monastery - a later, syncretic school of
Tibetan Buddhism. A lot of Indian influence on the statuary. Beautiful
paintings upstairs in the Lama Lhakang - of all the roster of Nyingma leaders
and the "primordial" Buddha, --- , getting it on with his smiling girlfriend.
En route to the monastery I stopped in the county town of Dranang. The
policeman stopped me on the doorstep of the Sakya monastery there; after
glancing at my passport - the fellow explained that a permit is required for
the town I talked my way out of it and promised to get a permit at the big town
of Tsetang. However, I doubt if they will be able to issue one, but I can try.
Getting sleepy now. Listening to the radio. Horrible earthquake in Turkey. All
the European shortwave stations employ only British accented announcers - what
a pity. The European Union will only end up enforcing an elaborate form of
regional xenophobia: I cannot so easily go to work in Europe. Oh, it doesn't
matter. Go to bed instead.
A leisurely ride to Samye. A perfect
campsite just outside the perimeter wall. It took a whole hour to boat across
the river, which is very high. the monastery of Samye is located in a very
green spot beside sand dunes, rocky mountains and the river. Since this is the
first monastery in Tibet, I guess I'll stay here all day tomorrow. Besides -
the campsite is lovely and the weather has cheered up. It's four in the
afternoon, and I suppose I'll wander over to visit the monastery. I don't think
I'm going to ride all the way to Lhodrak simply because that would mean having
to rush so much. I guess after my attempts at photography tomorrow I can write
some letters to my family and friends.
Perhaps after heading to the
ancient sites south of Tsetang I'll just turn round and come back to Lhasa -
and maybe even fly home early to Taiwan. Perhaps I'm only tired of wandering
and miss my girl. The sun has climbed out from behind the clouds, so it's a
good time to visit the monastery. I wonder if it costs to get inside?
Idea for a motif - a novel of Tibetan history - someone who enjoys
historical fiction ought to write: "The Abbot, the Master and the King."
Transposing the original tale of the establishment of Tibet's first monastery -
thus ensuring the importance of Buddhism for all Tibetans - into the modern
history, say during the era of the early mid Dalai Lamas - say 5th to 6th, ha,
ha, a tale of intrigue and murder... the why and the wherefore of everyone's
politico-religious psychology... Anyway, today I woke up to rain, and my tent
was getting wetter and wetter... I waited till noon, but nothing changed -
pitter, patter, pitter, patter. I had to abandon my lovely spot under the
willows and take a dorm room at the monk-owned hotel right on the grounds of
Samye Monastery. No shower, but an okay restaurant. I wandered around the
grounds and got a few good photos through the diffuse sunlight. Inside the main
Utse temple, in the assembly hall, a whole group of monks were busy making a
big sand mandala on a wooden table. It's very pretty and the whole thing
depicts something like the model of the Buddhist universe often painted on the
ceilings at the center point of temples... By the way, the Abbot who suggested
the design for Samye was a fellow named Shantaraksita, the Master -
Padmasambhava, and the king - Trisong Detsen. Upstairs I met a curious monk who
was keen to study the Buddhist iconography, and we reviewed the "Buddhas of the
Five Families" and I wrote the English name for the abstract, or primordial
Buddha figure - male in union with female - Samantabdhara and Samantabhadri.
The male represents "the subjective aspect of the primordial Buddha-body of
actual reality" and the other female consort part being "the objective aspect
of the primordial Buddha-body..."
I'm studying the Buddhist iconography
supplied in the guidebook. Fascinating are the four types of images of literary
subthemes found in (sorry to mention it - Lowry) for example, maybe the author
intended to represent a synthesis of all religious identities - not only the
obvious associations with Mexican mythology. For example, perhaps the consul
represents along with his ex-wife something like Cakrasamvara - the Buddhist
wrathful meditation deity in union with his consort while crushing Bhairava and
Kali (bad gods) - all derived from the Hindu pantheon. Anyway, I find the
adoption of Hinduism's Shiva into a Buddhist deity fascinating. Here's a good
name for a character in a novel: Sam Cakra, ha, ha! Note: the name of
Cakrasamvara's consort is Vajravarahi. The Tibetans, of course, have their own
names for all these characters.
Almost three o'clock on Tuesday, August
24th. In two days, I will fly to Chengdu and buy a train ticket for Guangzhou.
I should be able to make it home by the beginning of September or so. Today, I
wrote a letter to Sarah Thomas, and tonight I should write Louise or my
brothers. Returned safely by bus from semi-closed Tsetang after being forbidden
to travel to the Yarlung valley. The one good thing about visiting Tsetang was
the accidental and happy discovery of the local carpet factory. There I bought
a decent and pretty colorful carpet woven by hand-loom. Actually, I want to go
shopping for more souvenirs even though I can't really afford too much more! I
had my eye on another carpet but have to bargain for it...
Wednesday,
just after noon. I've welcomed the sun by snapping four photos. Poor Kate is
threatening to move in her girlfriend and my stuff out, just because I want to
ride the train instead of the airplane... I've bought some more souvenirs even
so, a lovely sheepskin, a felt hat, a few more turquoise pieces. I have to call
Kate tonight... try to calm her again... She makes me feel nervous - I just
want to go home and relax then find some work... Here is a snippet from a
letter to Sarah - "I want to write a bizarre science fiction fantasy about a
civilization at the "center of the universe'... there are two groups of beings
- one, the administrative clones who manage everybody - and, two, the
powerless, usurped and naturally bread nobles who remain the frustrated
underdogs of an automated, irrational fascism... The novel, of course, is
merely a parable for the consequences of "ideal politics" and technocracy. We
are responsible for enslaving ourselves by means of nonsensical political and
rational rhetorical formulae which have no substance and much less meaning than
they lay claim to... The plot scenario depicts what happens when a clone has
doubts and a noble plans rebellion..." Sarah will laugh at the rest of my
letter. I only hope Kate can relax and be calm and receive me without mayhem.
Now, it's past noon, the sun is still out, and I should go for a bike ride
somewhere and get some more photos.
Riding the slow, comfortable train
to Guangzhou from Chengdu. I was able to buy a ticket for the next day as soon
as I arrived. The only thing I can't stand about this trains is the shitty,
loud semi-operatic sentimental shout music that they play too loudly. I much
prefer the simple orchestral stuff. I'm not bored, I've got Jack London to
read, and going home to Peitou to look forward to... The Chinese on this care
are smiley but in the dark... They eat a lot and insist on over-washing their
clean faces in the morning. Mess of empty food boxes at the front. But they
have improved the service on the train since last time... offering lunch and
dinner and it is passably good. I got the shits, probably from the old weiners
I've saved from my trip. The flight from Lhasa was quick and it's amazing how
quick I got to town, since the road is paved, elevated. Chengdu is fairly
sprawling - a big town. The ride across downtown to the train station took half
an hour, 7 kilometers from the Traffic Hotel, full of tourists, American,
German, French and Danes... I'm happy to be on the train. I keep getting fresh
ideas for new stories and old ones, too. How about this: a gifted writer wakes
up one day to realize he's wasted twenty years, and he reviews life through the
strange perspective of the manque... realizing that he ought to have pursued
his writing talent but failed because of lucre and women... Of course, the look
back isn't all black - but only an attempt at self-explanation, and
consequently - a deep definition of a common type of manque very common among
Americans, Europeans, ie.: the Fulbright scholar, etc... Another story revolves
around stupid me who visits a nomad tent only to be robbed in the morning:
embellish the truth with some fantasy and most of all - try to depict the
unique and completely different viewpoints of nomad and Westerner - how and why
they do (and fail to) see one another... The story, of course, turns on the
subtle thievery perpetrated by the nomads - which gives the protagonist some
pause for reflection... (Also, the novel about the American manque - start and
end with the author's determination to begin writing a new novel - even a bit
of a novel within the novel - or at least - the dream within the novel can sew
up the unity, theme, etc - effectively. (From sun we came into clouds and rain,
as if the change in the day dreamed the desire of the young women for them).
Not the same as the above two ideas at all...
Upon arriving in
Guangzhou, I must find a way to go to Hong Kong - perhaps by boat Sunday night
- since we arrive Sunday morning on the train... Either that or find out if the
train to Hong Kong will take my bike, and then I can fly back Sunday
afternoon... I'd kind of like to visit the old market in Guangzhou and buy a
teapot or something...
Excerpt, Yunnan to Tibet, 1997:
July 18, 1997
It's a fine morning to be alive. I didn't finish
introducing the people I met in Lijiang. The only other interesting characters
were the musicians I met after the show of classical music. These fellows
reminded me of some of my Taipei pals. Sitting in a cafe with two acoustic
guitars. I just had to join them. They turned out to be in a band as well, and
I just had to join them. They sang songs in Nahki, were about 25 and had
trouble playing in public, just like the folk-punk bands in Taiwan! Who else
can I mention? Just this elfin British girl whom I didn't even name. And the
group of American travellers, mostly high school kids, and one of their
counsellors who wants to e-mail me from Hanoi, where's she's living. She's into
cycling and wants to do it in Asia. It is hard leaving a place like Lijiang
with so much friendly companionship; only in a place like that do people really
seem to come out of their socialized shells to open up and forget themselves in
other people. I'm reluctant to tell the tale. Coming from Lijiang, I took the
back road around the lake and had to hand my bike through some red clay mud and
wash it off in a river. The mud stuck like cement in huge globs to my bike.
What a nightmare. Yesterday I road 57 kilometres to Qiaotan, the entrance to
the west side of the Tiger Leaping Gorge. I met Sean and his new wife at a cafe
there. They own a guesthouse out here at Walnut Grove. Getting here was not so
easy, the 23.5 kilometres it took me over 6 hours. The trail started out as a
road sure enough! Many tourists are mini-bussed up here. But the road goes only
part way. The summer brings heavy rains and landslides are daily occurrences,
it seems. The first big one came after a tunnel. The workers were already at
it, trying to clear these gigantic boulders away from the road. They had a
jack-hammer going and it seemed like a mosquito trying to bite an elephant. The
guy helped me carry the gear over the rubble. Another jumble of rocks came
right after and I had to take it all off again! The road continued and in
several places I had to guide my bike through the rocks on the road. There was
a long pebbly landslide and I had to take my gear off once again. Then another,
and by this time I was pretty tired out, having walked about 4 and a half
hours. I fell over my bike and it landed on me. Luckily, the ledge over the
precipice kept me from sliding all the way down and losing all my skin in
thirty seconds. A man on one of the work crews came running up the path and
grabbed hold of my bike. I scrambled back up and he and I hauled the bike back
up onto the path. Then I thanked him with a hundred yuan and his eyes nearly
popped from his skull at the whole scene. Surprisingly, I didn't feel shocked
and my heart didn't race nor was there an adrenaline rush. But I was plain
lucky that I fell onto a little ledge instead of all the way down. My life may
have ended in moments. I have to be more careful going back. At least it is
more down hill than coming here. I'll be trying for Zhongdian in two days. The
it's the hard road up to Sichuan. Maybe the police will let me go if I'm lucky.
My only injury is a scrape below my left knee from the chainring. In this
really good fortune, or am I a born fool?
July 20, 1997
A day of
firsts. My first climb steadily over 40 kilometres! 47 to be exact. The sun
came out blazing hot after 3 weeks of terrible cool and rain. The first Tibetan
lady, standing beside the road with her high, square headdress and dress, poor
lady was pretty dirty. The first Tibetan houses with their cute carved windows
and large recessed porches; the halves are quite big. The first highland vista
of one of the snow mountains - in this case, a mountain 5396 metres high and
its long gray ridge trailing off to the west - I saw it climbing up to a place
just before Xiaozhongdian, at least 40 kilometres, or just under - away...
Zhongdian is still 37 kilometres to the north. I have to stop there to buy some
bike chain oil, mail some extra stuff ( or throw it away ), buy some canvas
shoes maybe... some rubber cement... Oh yeah! Another first... Two bicyclists
from Spain, and get this, coming south on the very route I want to follow north
and east to Chengdu. Apparently the road to Litang is okay, but rough, and near
Litang there are some landslides right on the road. I really hope the sunny
days continue... It is amazing just how hot the weather can get when the clouds
go away. The Spanish guys gave me in excellent Sichuan road atlas in exchange
for the one I had of Yunnan. Everything is really wonderful today. I had some
beef liver for dinner and I'm going to try to spend no more than 30 to 50 each
day, so that will mean cutting out most of my beers. My little shortwave radio
is really lasting a long time on only two batteries. I should buy some
chocolate bars tomorrow, too. Time for bed after I make a list and pick up the
stuff. Got some great pictures of people today.
July 22,
1997
Came into Zhongdian yesterday at 11:00 A.M. and decided to stay so
I could look around for some odds and ends. Quite a variety of folk living
there. I shared a hotel room with three others and it was entertaining. Gave
some tea to a smiling gentle fellow and I read for a while. Today I'm tired
after 84 k's riding on a dirt/gravel road. The plateau and meadows of Zhongdian
were left behind immediately. Later in Zhongdian I saw something of things
Tibetan, exotic knives made of brass and which the fellows around here actually
sling from their belts. All kinds of animal pelts like leopards and faxes, not
to forget Yak tail dusters. Some monks wandering around in orange and saffron.
I glimpsed the huge monastery just north of town early this morning. The
weirdest thing is the temperature extremes. This morning it was about 10 or 12
degrees - and give that Zhongdian is at 3200 metres, that does not seem a
surprise. I bought gloves and some very light red sports tights, as well as
some shoes and wool socks if it gets cold. I mailed some stuff to Sue in Wuhan
and sent some postcards, too. Still, I am way too heavy. Considering the
altitude, climbing up out of Zhongdian, and by the way, I chose the road to the
Yunnan - Tibet border since I figured it would be in better shape than the
Litang road. Smart move so far. The moon was so full last night and so many
zillions of stars visible, too. They ought to build a telescope up in Tibet
somewhere. Turned on the radio and the Chinese SW stations is playing many folk
and country rock stuff. You know, this frontier area reminds me of cowboy
country since the guys often wear felt hats - at least around Zhongdian. Got a
fine snap of horses in a meadow this morning. Then climbed up through the very
cool temperatures to at least 3700 or more and then glided down to a new vista
framed in lovely pine trees - really high mountains far to the north. Going
further down I kept on going. Now the houses became even "more" Tibetan and it
is amazing how big some of these places can get. But the farms around their
seem small and I wonder how these folks can build so big! The air soon began to
get warm by 10 or so. I doffed my clothes and man, by 1:00 it almost seemed
like 30-some degrees - a phenomenal change in temperature. The land really
changed, too. The pine trees gave way to scrub, like an American desert, and
the altitude dropped as I slid down into a river valley and some really huge
Tibetan mansions finished with fancy woodwork - it looks like some of these
families can afford to build like this by supplementary their income with
truck-driving. A thunderstorm started to chase me after I stopped for a beer.
It's funny how some of these Tibetan guys look like Robert Mitchum or Italian
playboys. I'll have to try to get some shots. Many of the women are knock-outs
as well. I'm pooed out, boy. Benzilan is beside a big muddy river and it has a
startling prettiness, especially as it contrasts with the barren, dry-looking
mountainsides. Saw some guys building a cobblestone road, tap-tapping with
little hammers to fit them in before filling the cracks with soil and rolling
over them with a big machine packer. This town is cute and the people seem
curious and even a little surprised to see me. The chances of getting into
Tibet is unknown to me. I'll try at least, and hope they let me in. If I do go
I guess it will make my trip longer by at least a few days, and two weeks or so
if I take a roundabout route to Chengdu via Qamdo, the "big city" of eastern
Tibet. I'd like to try and visit a Tibetan lamasery and maybe a home or two if
there are no hotels, etc... I have a big room with an electric fan - so
Benzilan must be in a hot spot! I'm quite comfortable. I'm happy to be alive. I
ought to be at the border by the 24th if I make good time. It's about 200 k's
to the frontier. I wonder if I can get inside? I'm very curious about the
geography and vegetation of higher altitudes. I have to go get some more tea...
July 24, 1997
Decided to rest here at Degen. Little did I know
what I was in for when I got up yesterday morning. The road began to climb out
of arid Benzilan, and it really did not stop climbing all day. It was like
going from a desert heat into an arctic tundra. The pass took me 57 kilometers
to surmount and by then I'd gong through a few villages, over looked a
miniature lamasery, and watched the trees perk up, first green leaves, and
finally pines. At the summit there were no trees, only a tundra grass. At this
point many vistas opened up. Some Tibetan tribespeople had set up their
tent/houses at those high points, herding their yaks. I noticed a couple of
fellows crafting butter making churns out of timber. One guy invited me to stay
in his house for the night, but I wanted to keep going despite the signs of
rain. A very huge mountain appeared on the left and down above a perfect
conifer-lined valley, up onto a sloping plateau, again no trees - but tundra
green. There were more people living in tent/stone homes. I got a good picture
of one group who seemed intent on taking everything I had, so I continued on
down, hoping to reach Degen before nightfall. But no such luck. The front tire
kept going down. At least I covered most of the remaining 35 k's in only an
hour and some. Then the tire had to have a new tube and then it was twilight.
An even huger mountain appeared to the left, topped with snow and giving a
glacier to the valley. I got a couple of twilight photos and I hope they turn
out. Today is overcast a little and it isn't really raining, though. Sun is
peeking out now. I'm going to take a nap if I can in the afternoon if they stop
hammering. I went for a walk around the village this morning and it is unique
but messy in places. It's amazing how the government has yet to launch a
clean-up campaign. Met an English teacher last night at a restaurant and she
told me that the town has 6000 people. As I rode my bike yesterday, I was
trying to figure out some of China's contradictions; in particular, the idea
which the Western conscience always pounces upon is the idea of the state's
oppressiveness. Of course, what I believe many people from the West fail to
comprehend is the long-standing traditions of social control in China; there's
an entrenched psyche and it often is an odd stem which grew from the ancient
love of orderly society. Since China's peoples are diverse, and the history of
irrational rebellion against innate repressions and the lack of expressive
outlets - like sexual or whatever... the society evolved an enforced system of
behavior which did nothing to reduce the personal frustrations and want of
experience, development or what-have you... (all of this can be tied to another
analysis about the over homo-social relations which are prevalent in many
Eastern societies...) Today, however, there is something to be said about
inertial forms - the perpetuation of repressions, etc, through seemingly
innocuous and inoffensive bureaucracies - so, while the means is more mild, the
end result is still playing through the dynamo of power involving the control
of many through authority of the few... I don't know what I'm talking about, of
course, but it is some source for contemplation. Degen is such an isolated
pocket... Mountains are all around and the whole place is on a river between a
crack in the embracing, sharp slopes. I rode 106 kilometres and I'm pretty done
in... I am going to read and sleep a little after I have a shower. Maybe I can
get some photos later this afternoon if the light holds...
July 26,
1997
Early morning I arrived yesterday at dusk. After a long descent
from Degen, the road traced the Mekong river all the way here to Yanjing, just
inside the Tibetan frontier. A hot, hard ride! I'm happy to be here. The
mountains are big and the people, friendly. There's nothing to do but go on.
The road is okay, some rocks, landslides, etc - but they maintain it, anyway.
Met some Japanese guys hitching to Lhasa. There is a Chinese guy studying
cultural anthropology and writing books, or a thesis. He lives in Lhasa, too. I
should continue today. I can write more later.
So many things I have to
try to remember... ideas for poetic themes pop into my head... the unique
character traits of the Tibetans show themselves. Certainly my good luck
getting in here problem free is only bested by the weather - fine, sunny and
cool breezes. The vistas climbing up today from Yanjing to a point nearly
halfway to Markam - they are well worth all the strenuous labor of pedaling up
and up. The place I've stopped at is a typical little commune with a few
rectangular buildings and a gate in front... The place is on the side of a
gentle "hill" covered with pines and wild flowers - bright yellow and fuschia
colored. The folks here welcomed me very easily when they saw that I have no
where to go... The spot is just at the tree line it seems. Some of the hills
around here are covered with new mexico scrub and others with lots of trees.
There are more villages here than yesterday, so I really am in Tibet, I guess.
The laughter of the wife at the boss here at the commune is just like a girl I
met coming up from Benzilan to Degen - and their laughter combined sounds like
a Mongolian girl's laugh... very easy to tickle these people's natural delight
at the living in this odd world. The Tibetans are not used to seeing
foreigners, and they are really very curious, and unlike other people further
south, they are quick to smile, joke and discipline their kids. The dogs bark
more loudly here than in the rest of China.
Ideas for poetry - there's
initial lines... The idea came a couple of days ago... Something about a land
so (anonymous) or (uninhabited by human intelligence or any other previous life
forms)... that the rocks and soil contain no secrets but the sun and wind of
eons - and they may reveal nothing more, nor anything new to learn. I'm sitting
in the commune boss's living room on a comfy black leatherette chair at 4250
meters above sea level - the mother is trying to manage her two-year old and he
is already getting too curious about everything around him. Very cute scene
seen by someone before me, but not so many... No t.v. up here, but I see there
is a satellite dish, so there must be one... How bright the sun is today, and
how the sky - very blue, seems much nearer to the earth as are the clouds. In
the distance is a range of snow mountains between 5 and 6 thousand metres high.
A few clouds crown their exceedingly jagged tops. Tibet is certainly one of the
most beautiful, naturally perfect places on Earth... I'm pooped out, again,
after riding up for 45 kilometers, and the road was quite steep in some
places... But fortunately - I've had not headaches or any other ill effects due
to the altitude... My colitis has been acting up for a couple of weeks, but I
still have a few suppositories so it shouldn't get too bad - the pills are no
good, I think.
The husband sports a big gold ring finely tooled and a
red polished stone is set in it. It's 6:00 P.M. and already starting to cool
off. I imagine tomorrow I'll have to dress quite warmly before going down the
other side to Markam. Then I have to decide whether to go northwest to Qamdo,
or due east to Chengdu... I still don't know. Personally, I hope Sue Chen will
forgive me if I do stay out here longer... I'm thinking this is kind of a
once-in-a-life-time deal, so why not. My tire tubes ought to hold up, I hope. I
keep sending cards and letters to friends and family, like Kate and the folks.
I'm really lucky that these folks are so readily willing to take me in. I've
give them 20 yuan and I hope that is reasonable. I've been taking some good
photos, too - this morning of a pretty old village lady at Yanjing sitting
beside the road and two girls walking along, then some of the mountains, of
course. I cannot think of anything else right now. Except some guy has brought
up a used pool table in one of those tractors and I've had some goat or yak
cheese - very piquant taste.
July 28, 1997
Yesterday morning I
quietly gathered my gear so as not to wake my hosts who had stayed up till one
A.M. boisterously playing mahjong. I lay slunk upon the couch trying to doze. I
smiled to myself and the room, I guess without knowing it, half-asleep. Before
the sun went down I got a dusky shot of the mountain across the way at 6318m.
The top of the morning mountain was pretty much all fog. Reaching the summit,
the sign read 4410 metres. Someone else from abroad down-sized the peak by some
metres, labelling the measure officially inscribed as, "bullshit." I don't know
how high I was. The rain and fog evaporated as I descended. Then I noticed
another commune on the other side of the pass. Perhaps these serve as winter
search and assistance stations. I'm not sure. Again - near the summit some
folks subsist in wood and stone huts, herding goats. Oh yeah, one more thing -
before getting in the day before yesterday, I noticed an unparented yak, almost
adult, wailing and I even saw tears shedding from its eyes - and I have never
seen any animal weep before. Coming into a narrow valley I saw the high
mountain grass meadow turn into pine trees, scrub and then finally farms and
villages. The one thing very strange about the topography is the odd, perhaps
lee and windward side of things - or at least, I'll use the expression here to
create a sufficient, I hope, analogy to help one envision the very peculiar
placement of trees and scrub. Some slopes are densely packed with trees and
others show signs of either differing soil quality or climatic relation.
Temperatures rose from about 12 to nearly 30 degrees for awhile until
some more clouds came into play. I saw a mendicant (wrong term) a circling
monk, a praying fellow say hello to the people in the field. That's another
thing - when people see me they often wave or call out, often asking me to join
them. Today I responded to this gesture and I'll tell you about it later on.
The afternoon came. I stopped for a beer and I ate some snacks I have. The
people wondered where I was from again. A yuan bill, I dropped under the bridge
and someone, the little boy went to find it. Then I just gave the money to the
boy. Near the villages or on the hilltops you will see stones pegged into the
earth. There are prayers pinioned on these stones and they are printed on
pieces of clothe - read, green and yellow. As I was riding and getting near to
Markam I noticed a few folks in trucks by the road. It turns out there's a
horse race going on and the animals, small but often wild-looking ponies were
being run up a grassy meadow to the waiting audience. I got some good shots of
the horses and local people, who are not all so shy of pictures. They really
enjoyed surrounding me. I even had to try showing some kids away from in front
of the pines. One guy was bucked off several times before he finally got on one
to make the race begin. I managed to get some pictures of local people, too.
Then I continued on to Markam with a guy riding beside me. He was nice and told
me his name.
In Markam I found the hotel as it was beginning to rain,
went inside, washed my body and hair after three days without. I ate at the
town's classy restaurant and had some cold goat and pork with vegetables and it
had a very inimitable taste, one more point to remind me that I'd entered a
truly isolated identity. A few police army guys came in and didn't blink at me.
Then I went out for a walk and met a teacher working in Qamdo who was home for
some days to visit his family during the summer holiday. He told me a few
things. How to say "Hi" - "Wei", "Thank you" - "Tudichi." I told him I'd look
for him in Qamdo if I was slow getting there. Then I went back to the hotel
only to run into my pal from Yanjing, a Japanese guy. We bought peanuts and
went back to the hotel for a chat. Then we smoked some left over wee and
blabbed, watching t.v. He has this digital mini-disc recorder and it is
amazing. He brought it to record music and whatever, during his travels. We
were laughing and babbling tilt midnite... Next morning I got going and the
road went up into a meadow and over into a perfect, graceful valley and meadow.
On this place, just paste the verge of the cool mountain rain, sat a family and
friends and I saw them waving at me beside their tent... Then went over and
joined them. They gave me some yak butter tea and some snack bread. One of the
ladies was cooking something up. There must have been at least one mother and
daughter present, and about two brothers, a couple of married girls and guys.
I'm not sure what or who. Food was good and the people were pretty nice.
Curious, inviting and giving. Food was more than good and seemed perfect
fortification against the alpine brace.
I'm staying at a hotel and it's
a town called Chuka on the Lancang river. The spot is arid and hot most summer
days, though it was raining lightly at 4:30. Across the river is a lightly
fortified commune and some soldiers are stationed here at a point bottom of a
very high pass, over 5000 metres, I'm told by one of the English-speaking guys
here. The climb and descent to the next town is about 108 kilometres and I
doubt if I should try it in one day unless I leave at 5:30 A.M. I should divide
it into two if I want to enjoy the scenery without hurrying myself too much!
I'm hungry. I guess the army guys don't mind me around. A few families live
here, too, and one runs this electricityless lushe. Daughter is home for the
summer from studies in Hubei. It is like a desert here - I'm stupefied by the
enormity of the mountainous terrain, and awed at the extraordinary climatic,
botanic contrasts generated... I wish I could speak more, of course, but I love
just seeing the nature and being easy with people. Women laugh so light and
high. But all things are unpredictable - one little boy knocked out my
tail-light with a stick going through a village. This is a real place and
anything is as you might expect - there simply has to be a place to stay at the
bottom of a high pass. I'm going to go slow and only hope it is pleasant late
in the day. Feel like writing a lot, peculiar, yet it feels like eating
something good. I hope the cook can do something for me as all I have are three
apples, some cookies and biscuits to sustain me up to the middle of the
mountain.
July 30, 1997
Two passes actually - one, a long
morning's ride up out of Chuka. Despite having had at least 4 beer with one of
the border guards - not border guards, but military police checking the
paperwork of truckers to see what was up. Struck me as an odd exercise for them
to perform. The soldiers have handguns and semi-automatic rifles. But they are
friendly, only just kids all of them, some as young as twenty. Went to bed
drunk but woke up sound as a good luck charm. I made the climb to the first
pass by 2 or so. Just as I reached it, the Japanese guy I met earlier was
riding up on a truck and I said hello. Down I went through some tiny, isolated
villages. Began climbing at 3500 metres again (the pass was almost 4000
metres). Halfway up I found a restaurant and a tiny lushe run by soldiers. Then
I just stayed the night and that was all. Got up at 6, left by 7. The rest of
the climb was one of the prettiest I've ever experienced. The mountains spread
to open the narrow valley into a funnel-like glacial bowl. The most beautiful
wild flowers - purple and blue fluorescent, yellow and thistles and gnarled
miniature trees, the odd huge pine. the sun wanted to come out, but the
mountain tops attracted the clouds. More stone and tent villages. I said hello
to several, all smiling to see me. Finally, breathing deeply, but thinly, and
pausing often before reaching the top, I finally reached the summit and got a
picture of myself beside the sign saying 5008 metres! On down and it warmed up.
Oh yeah, just before reaching the summit, two fellows sat beside the road with
a lot of supplies, telling me they were on their way to a village some
kilometres over a hill. They gave me a tasty grain porridge mixed with yak
butter and tea - very good... Another fellow sold me a high mountain fern and I
don't know if people eat it in soup or what. By 3:30 I'd reached Zogang, washed
my clothes, went for a walk and a lady policeman ran me in, fined me 100 and
said that I had to go back to Chengdu... My indecision is ripe. It's three
weeks one way, and two the other. What to do? Take a chance and see if I can
get by the cops or ride back? Got to rinse the bike and such before it gets
dark right away.
July 31, 1997
Barely slept last night. Got up
to a temperate morning at 4:30 and left by 6:00 A.M., crawling up the dark
road. Only a few early birds noticed me. On I went as dawn came and the road
followed a rollicking river all day. Took a few pictures and that's about all,
of a man with his horse and some scenery. By lunch time I'd already gone about
60 kilometres. The town I stopped for a snack and a beer was full of young
kids. They kept giving me handfuls of puffed barley and roasted corn. Most
people were happy and amazed to see me, which is a very good feeling. Most had
some religious association in mind and some of these made prayer-like gestures
and even said, "Dalai Lama." The Tibetans are really isolated from the world,
and it is easy to see their amazement translated into rapt curiosity. One man
even got close and looked at my leather belt and seemed impressed at its
quality. One lady went over to her house and came back with a pot of yak butter
tea and gave me some. She had such long, twin braided pony-tails. I thanked
everyone and kept going till near Gongba and right beside the road sat a big
monastery - lamasery. I went in and met a few of the monks and of course they
wanted to know if I had any pictures of the Dalai Lama. They showed me the cell
they shared together, with a tiny skylight over a desk covered in prayers
printed in rectangles of paper. Posters on the wall of mythical religious
scenes and photos of religious leaders. I left and finally arrived here at
Bamba, a truck-stop sort of place with an army base and a couple of
restaurants. Lucky for me an ominously bleak gray cloud began to pour rain an
hour after I arrived. My carriers are breaking near the joint connection points
and I'm having to bind them together with scraps of wire and string. Maybe the
temperature changes combined with the bouncy road and my overloadedness is
causing this problem. I hope I can hang together till I get to Chengdu. I
should be able to get there by the 18th or so. I'll have to write Sue and maybe
extend my air tickets by a week or so... I feel really beat up and wasted. But
this land is truly pure and unspoiled. Only a few spots show tree-cutting and
there are many varieties of wild flowers, badgers (otters), mini-rabbits just
like in the Rockies, fish in the rivers and many things I haven't seen.
July is over, August 3, 1997
I should be out taking pictures,
but it is a pleasant, a needed relief, to take a day off in Qamdo. At some rise
of eliciting statutory paranoia, I may even stay another day or so in this
place. Had a misadventure. She came by to remind me of it, and to tell me I'm
somewhat off balance. But that's like reality from another's perspective, and I
am pretty well bundled up in my own dream. Who should expect empathy from
anyone? If one were going intentionally to inspire fear or regret, happiness or
joyful emotions, the themes are too many to list and unfold right now. I cannot
stop moving at high speed. At least I can sometimes laugh at my reactions -
responses - idiocy - dearth - wish -. But to unfold one or two. Jotted several
ideas on the scraps I found in a bar last night. I had to find the hotel first.
Coming out of the plateau of Bambda was an unforgettable temper. The air was
brisk after an all night and heavy rain. I remember the weird thing was the
strong wind in front of that livid cloud. But the fucking cloud just sat there
and didn't advance until later. The cloud came over after I camped, as I
mentioned before, and that cooled things up quite a lot. On I came and the
clouds didn't rain anymore. Only people I saw were the round crew with two cats
moving the sand and clay off the road. Cannot claim to be able to control my
emotions most of the time. But clay makes me panicky and I was happy to pause
by the river and cleaned the stuff from my wheels. It's quicksand to the mind
of a voyage. Done and on to Qamdo.
The next day I knew it would be...
the road from the truck stop at Bambda, I almost forgot, goes up to Bambda
village. Everyone in town was trundling out cartfuls of furniture and white
tents to set up to show everyone and each other afternoon tea, booze and god
only may make me dream what else... I noticed my camera's battery is on its
last legs, too. It'll still do one picture at a time for awhile. But that is
about all. Ha, ha, it makes me laugh to think I didn't bring an extra one. Got
up past the mudslide and then I guess the valley opened up. Some villagers
camped by the road, my favorite black tent nomadic types wanted to sell me
gold. I cannot imagine their perception of my skidding along the gravel. It
doesn't matter. I figure that is all they got of me after all. I can always say
where I'm from. Some of them want you and others know better. I kept going
until the guy on a bike who joined me at the tent village with his bike and boy
and sack of porridge left me and sensed his singing, whistling. That happened
the other day too when two overdressed guys with pick-axes strapped to their
bikes rode along until I put on the gas and crambled ahead. Yikes I'm weird.
Then the land, after the guy and kid turned into their commune, became very
measured. A high left bank opened now and then and I saw a big mountain leaking
a creak under the road. I snapped a photo of the snow on top of it. Then I went
on and the meadow to the right came between me and the fast river on the edge
of the crest opposite... But the lay of the land was so gentle that that river
slowed and had to meander. I was wearing sunglasses and at first I thought I
was looking at wet soil. The concrete ran beside me for about 5 kilometres and
I found the entrance to the place and took a look-see inside and I asked myself
why? Qamdo being 120 k's further on, maybe 150, it didn't occur to me that the
local people might not think that so far. But not many would be able to buy a
ticket at all, so I guess they intend to combine purposes - welfare of people
with the money some don't know what to do with... It's an unusually large
runway, about big enough for 747's. There were some offices and a new terminal
and everything, not yet open or functioning... But maybe they're only open a
couple days out of the week because it looked like planes had been landing
lately. The people around seemed dazed at the facility's presence... Some
showed bemusement, others mirth, some cynicism - naturally enough...
After the airport the army and many local people were combining forces
to construct a new paved road on top of the other one. Real big time obstacle
course. Taxing my energy more than my patience... It seems they chose to do the
easy parts first to make it quicker to get to the hard parts later on. That is
a pass up and it hugs a clover-covered hillside and just across the really
steep valley similar to Yanjing area in a way there's a large peak near 6000
meters. The road starts back down from just over the level of the Bambda
plateau of 4300 metres, and the road goes a very long down down - the lights
went out and t.v., too. The dusk is coming on. People are walking about now,
after work, only leisure time, I glimpsed them from the roof terrace and I got
some photos just now of things and a couple of girls, one standing and the
other stroking her wet hair with a big read comb. Trucks are honking - sounds
like a hundred geese. Then the dog started. The girls are joshing about being
young and wanted by me, but feeling my feeling of helplessness - wishing for
the accessibility of tongues, I guess I'm just nuts to them... It is my own
traps I lay -whether woman or my over-reactions and apparent insanity. Got to
light a candle soon. The road guys told me it was another 30 k's to the town of
Diyang, no, that's not how to spell it - Gyitang, I guess. Wow, what an
unearthly thing to manage... getting my bike down a road that turned into a
waterway, due to the heavy rains of the previous day. I made it on the bike
through most of the water - a couple kilometres, and then the light was
darkness. But stars and the brighter rocks reflected one another and I saw my
way. I had to walk for a few kilometres and people coming home from bar,
restaurant or strolls giggled at me and wondered how crazy I must be... The
town was beside the road and I found the hotel when a lady pointed a light at
the door. I went inside and the man was not perturbed that I was late, and even
helped me get the restaurant next door to produce some hot noodles for me. Poor
girl did her job last night or not. Air was warm, very good. I slept okay.
Trucker wanted to know if he could give me a lift to Qamdo. I foolishly
said no and got up early to ride over the ridge, at least 10 k's up over bumpy
lunar rock samples, and guys crushing them up to make traction for the trucks.
I cannot imagine arriving over that narrow rope with a truck! As the day
decided to lengthen because the sun showed no remorse this time - I drank
whatever water I could catch falling off the mountainside. Purple rocks and
sandy dusty liquid powder, gray rocks and grit, all manner of quick changes.
Road by the river and a work camp gave me lunch. Then the land finally relented
and turned into a sweeping curve back and forth around the fingertips of the
steep hills. Many men working to build the wider road, and women, too. Everyone
digging trenches and pouring in cement to drain rain into the river. A break
over a rise - an abandoned commune near the top of the pass... Maybe the people
preferred their tents (at that point, too I checked out a stone and earthen
winter shelter - pretty basic, earth floor and hole in roof far fire smoke...)
A lot of riding up and down around the road work. Got to town and made my way
across the bridge to this quaint little, well-managed hotel squeezed behind ( I
wanted to squeeze all of the girl's bottoms, too.) The hotel is situated just
near the riverside, too. Did all my laundry this morning. Last night was like a
happy nightmare. I had a shower and went out to buy some - pepsi, beer and
oranges. Then I had the shower, actually.
Went back to a restaurant to
eat some beef-filled doughy things - good. The trap was hilariously obvious to
me because I'd noted the place before. A soldier and a policeman were there, so
I ate while they continued pouring beer and brandy. I enjoyed everyone's
company to be honest, though I'm not used to the way everyone has to get along.
But plenty of sincere conviviality flowed, too. In a very perturbingly funny
way, the soldier boss reminded me of Albert Finney and he like to rub my back
and tease me. The guy liked to say things after me sometimes, too, "good
health, good hell"... The police guy has a family and he did tell me I was not
supposed to be here. Ha, hee, hee. A young Tibetan guy, very striking good
looks - the father of Ingrid Bergman or someone like that. He insisted without
words and so did the lady of the house with her two playful children. What an
astonishingly beautiful witch with perfect earrings I don't know where she
found them - maybe the city or a local craftsman toils away. (Noticed some fine
tools in the local hardware store - like scissors and such.) The night
developed quickly and I had too many extra quick toasts. Everyone got going.
Soldier and policeman left, both pretty soused. I am feeling so inane,
powerless - but nonetheless confident and never sheepish. Go on and live no
matter who you be, fellas, gals. I am doing it. You can too. But I guess you
wouldn't want to do it like this, yet I'm lucky that doesn't occur to me
deeply. The lady was loving her children and the fellows, policeman and my new
pal made breasts through their shirts and mother had her littlest boy kiss her
titty, having unfolded her red negligee under her dress. She was warmer than I
deserved, indicating she wanted me to bed with her a couple of times.
Untellably sweet and touching even though she once fell off her horse. I went
after the tenth beer and didn't return to the hotel. I kept walking up the main
road to the river and found the roller disco hall. Lots of handfuls here and
there round town - including, I see, several new expensive homes built on the
hillside. I am feeling good but still too tired.
Last night only three
hours sleep. Kept walking, noticed the post office and the main hotel. Big
Saturday night party hall with kareoke singers smoothly belting up the ballads,
lasses and chums. Danced later when they played some disco vcds. My pal showed
up and we continued drinking with his pals until we joined the mei-mei girls -
rub fingers together. Lovely women eating sunflower seeds with their fingers.
They left and said something about "chokai" - having to skat! We went over to
another disco and danced some more. The folks there wanted Dalai Lama pictures,
ha, ha. I wanted only fresh air. The air is so fine here. Fragrant, not too
humid air. Lots of thunderstorms on the other side of the mountain tonight. (As
I wrote that, interrupted yet one more time by new friends - everyone from
hotel family staff - two of the girls are lick precious, lovey. I want them you
haven't a clever babe to give you the clue. I'm too tired to be writing anymore
by candlelight. I recovered my last evenings notes and I feel there are more
left out notions and people than I'll have time to scratch. My back feels good,
considering what happened when I suffered a phobia this morning. Two minutes
after midnight makes it yesterday morning. I've got to break till tomorrow. You
have to when the ideas you are trying to put together turn to dreams of the
guys sweeping falling cement onto the earth in the hotel they're building
across the street.
We were very drunk and my pal and I left the disco
at 2 in the morning. The hotel was shut up and there was no one to hear my
knocking. The only recourse was to go back to the disco and we slept there. I
woke up around 7:00 A.M. and found the roll shutter door locked from the
outside. I couldn't climb out the upstairs window either. I felt trapped and I
simply banged my back against the door to slip outside. I was still a bit
drunk. I didn't go to sleep but did my laundry and wrote letters. Went for a
walk and found some sesame and peanut brittle snacks. Looked into shops and
took one or two pictures - of the footbridge across one of the two rivers here.
Busy little town. Bookstore full for the bored. Had lunch of liver and onions.
In the afternoon I wrote this journal account and chatted with the girls
working here. A couple of the young ones are really luscious and make
everything ache. Took some good pictures on the roof late afternoon, now,
yesterday. Finally my pal visited me, explaining that he was in hot water
because of what I did. I promised to mail him the money in U.S. dollars cash,
about 150 - 200... I hope that letter will get through. T.V. malfunctioning and
the loose cable connection to the hotel is not being dealt with. Camera is
going funny too - when I press the shutter button to activate the light meter -
it stays on for too long... Hopefully I can get it repaired in Taipei. I'm
staying here an extra day to rest. Then tomorrow I'm going out to hitchhike for
Dege, or further. I need a rest. Today I'll just walk up to the hilltop, look
for pictures, eat, read and write a couple more letters...
August 10,
1997
6 days to Chengdu... I'm five out of Qamdo. The first day I hopped
on a truck offering me a ride over the pass near Qamdo. All day on the truck
and we only went 69 kilometres. Mountains everywhere. Many people living in
tents along the way. One fellow on the truck had all kinds of stuff like a sack
of rice or flour. Another guy, a kid was friendly to me, through a little pesky
- as are many Tibetans - they all have a mischievous streak and it is attached
to their carefree side unless sometimes betraying bitterness. I'm going to keep
this brief as I feel like a zombie - I've averaged about 100 km for the last
four days each day... The truck is indelibly there, though - everyone shared a
couple of cases of beer before noon. Someone sang, another prayed aloud. I've
really noticed that many Tibetans are into praying - counting beads or
chanting. And coming out of Tibet into Sichuan, there appear to be even more
monks around here (Luhua and north). Many of these monks are fairly young. I
don't know if they only do it for a short while or what... I'm going to fall
asleep before I finish this. Arriving in Toba, only a few buildings really, I
just ate a lot, smoked a reefer and went to bed against the cold... I put my
heels into it and the land went through a narrow river valley, opened up some
and after a couple of low passes - a hot day, too, I arrived in Jamda. This is
a trading town and many villagers were hanging around. The police wanted to
know what I was up to, so I told them. The next day was a fairly high pass and
I wasn't over it until about 2:00 P.M. Really good views up there. Down in
Sichuan, the last citadel into Tibet was behind me. Dege lay in another narrow
river valley following a great gorge - vivid brown russet and black tawny
rocks, sheer up and trees crowding the banks. Found two stone/wood towers at
the end of it, near Dege. They looked newly built. Then I found a meadow by the
river full of the white tents I first saw another Bambda. It looked to be a
country fair. Dege appeared as I had begun to get rained on in the dark. Many
beautiful log-built homes in Dege, I even stayed in a genuine Tibetan-style
guesthouse. Painted beams and door jambs. A monk from Sikkim was staying there
on his way to Lhasa. He helped me get permission to stay as the family thought
I ought to go to the hotel and then relented. One more big pass occupied much
of the following day. Quite a wind and drizzle on the way down from near 5000
metres. Two tribal girls were on top of the pass and they seemed to be in the
middle of some sensitive moment, communing with nature, and feeling privileged
to be alive. I should have taken their picture, but it was getting too cold.
Finally arrived in Mannigango after passing through a beautiful, newly empty
area, a big meadow and it would make a great ranchland, but I saw only a few
tiny houses. The night in Mannigango was cold, too. I only had two small pieces
of candle to get me going. Listened to the radio, nowhere to go. Made excellent
time coming along the river valley - still few people, only a few villages,
until I entered a new zone; a much wider valley between the mountains allowed
for much more farmland, and so all of these villages resulted in Ganze, a big
town with a real Tibetan feel, plenty of monks hanging around. One thing I
noticed coming out of Dege, and almost everyday since - the number of fellows
riding ponies and horses along the road! Monks, farmers, almost everyone has a
horse to get around. Actually, at comfortable speeds I can make much better
time than the horse... Today I left the hotel at Ganze at 7:00 A.M. A cool
cloudy morning cleared quickly and it was getting hot as I reached the hilltops
of the range separating a couple of rivers. Rode into Luhuo, and everything
showing signs of Chinese influence - more communes and food places. Falling
asleep. Better turn in six days to go to Chengdu. Maybe I should take a bus,
tomorrow, I'm overcooked!
You can always sell me overseas and it ought
to be easy to buy back your health when you remember to love. God and his
mothers wonders why, too.
