Miguel and I discuss the police. All foreign travellers in Tibet have to protect ourselves, and that's equivalent to a filter of Western ideas and habits. We are xenophobic. Usually, we pick on something crazy to critique instead of something uplifting. Why do we overlook the good things? I can vouch for the innocence of the Tibetans. Nobody wants to live in fear. Freedom is natural feeling, surpassing what money buys.

We both agree that time will see China evolve into some new form of inequality even more modern than communism. One thing seems certain, even after they get rid of communism, they'll still have the police to screw things around... The Chinese are smart enough, and despite their chaotic, despotic tendencies, they still have a fairly good chance to learn how to be free. Although it's supposed to be a free country now, look at how far Russia has yet to go: it's still hard for certain Russians to gain permission to travel abroad and the government repeatedly muffles the journalistic media. Many of the old communist state's illiberal structures are still in place.

One thing should be made clear about the structure of authority in Tibet. The Chinese have long promoted a "positive" theory of assimilation as a means to transform Tibet from a colony into a new province of China. In an effort to accomplish this, schools were established years ago to train local Tibetans in the art of police work. Almost all PSB officers are Tibetan and one of their jurisdictions is to deal with foreigners like me. Many other Tibetans have ascended to positions of nominal authority in the governing technocracy itself, at local and national levels both. Obviously, the assimilation of Tibetan people into the official administration of Tibet by the Chinese government is already very deep. But at the same time, glaringly, thousands of Chinese troops are stationed permanently all over Tibet. What do you think their real job is? Officially, they protect the sovereignty of China's borders. But their main job is to exert Chinese control over the Tibetan populace. It's difficult to imagine the continued existence of "Chinese Tibet" without the presence of these troops... In Tibet it's easy to feel that the land will one day become its own country once more: eventually the Chinese troops will have to go home... But of course, not before China and its imported rules and culture have caused some irrevocable changes.

Tibetan rebels demand independence, and with good reason; the Chinese have always been brutal in their rule over the helpless. But it is difficult to imagine how the Tibetans can gain their independence. The colony has been evolving since the 1950's and even if the Chinese walk away, certain structures established by their rule would generate inevitable complications for the whole society. For example, would the Tibetan police officers trained by the Chinese be ostracized as quislings, or would it be a simple matter to employ them in the new, liberated Tibetan state? Only the Tibetans themselves could resolve this question.

Further complications lie in the deeply rooted communist administrative bureaucracy, comprised of both Tibetans and Chinese officials. Opportunities for local people in the present system have had mixed reviews. It depends on whose story you read, and which media source you choose... Chinese newspapers and television programs are full of happy reports about successful Tibetans whose enterprises were aided by the presence of China's liberating system. Meanwhile, exiled news sources report frequent instances of police brutality and horror stories about jailed and murdered innocents. Everything is true! The Chinese have brought development, but they have also brought an unjust rule and have forbidden, in typically Asian style, all freedom of discussion. Consequently, the Tibetans are prevented absolutely from determining their own destiny. You see similar nonsense happening today in Myanmar, Indonesia and Malaysia, because of their cowardly rulers, all of whom are desperately afraid of free speech and open elections.

Inevitably, other issues complicate the circumstances of Tibetan independence and liberation. The Chinese have overseen the development of the present infrastructure in Tibet. Were the nation suddenly to become free of Chinese control, the people would inevitably suffer from unprecedented material deprivations. The price to pay for a newly independent Tibet would be very high, and it would take some time for the nation to get on its feet. It's also true to suggest that the Tibetans are already suffering from such deprivations, and that resources are hardly distributed equitably, with the lion's share going to the Chinese rulers and their army.

Dinner arrives and the beefsteak is a little black, but tasty enough. Night leaves us alone to wander aimlessly around town. We pass beneath a nightclub and the Tibetan woman singing upstairs has a superstar voice. She sings Tibetan songs to the tune of Chinese music, which sounds odd. Next stop is the phone office, but it's already after the auspicious hour of eight, so the folks behind the counter don't let Miguel call Europe tonight. I let him alone and retreat to a tea-shop across from the Orchid Hotel with my notebook. My favorite Tibetan beverage is sweet milk mixed with Hindustani red tea. Tibetans play card games in the next room. They are very drunk and noisy. So, I flip the house cassette over. The folksy singer is a lusty lament. The tea-shop ladies look plaintive and disbelieving as I get up. They are sorry to see me go. I promise to come back again.

Next morning I do laundry. It's too rainy to visit the great monastery. A manager chases away some kids who wander into the hotel's backyard in hopes of stealing into the overgrown apple orchard behind. He kicks their asses hard till they run away. Speaking of funny things round the hotel, it's weird: there's a little Tibetan boy who walks out, looks straight at me with a few words of thankful dismissal. He's all dressed up in a shiny cowboy outfit complete with six-shooters holstered round his waist... This kid resembles the "officially recognized" Panchen Lama. The experience lasts less than ten seconds.

I buy my bus ticket for Lhasa. Then Miguel and I visit Tashilhunpo after lunch, surreptitiously, without having to pay. The monastery was built in the 15th century at the foot of Dolmari Mountain by the first Dalai Lama, Gendun Drub. During its heyday, this Gelukpa monastery housed nearly 5000 monks. Today, it's the home of the famous Panchen Lama. The monastery also doubles as a mausoleum, the final resting-place for a long line of spiritual leaders. The "Red Temple" enshrines many relics and memorials devoted exclusively to particular Panchen Lamas. In the past, the monastery maintained four colleges for educating novices. Today, only two of these colleges remain. A new and larger building, either a college or a residence, is presently under construction. A sight to behold, it's built with traditional materials, massive stones and gargantuan timbers.

While the temples of the monastery are kept in magnificent shape, many of the age-old college residences are extremely decrepit on the insides, which proves without a doubt that there are far fewer monks living here than in earlier days. The outward signs of foreign sponsorship, and the expensive new mausoleum for the last Panchen Lama, cannot relieve the impression that being a monk isn't so easy or popular anymore. For those who do undertake this path, Gelukpa novices must spend their time studying Tibetan Buddhist texts. They also practice a traditional method of dialectical argumentation, reminiscent of Socratic dialogue, in which an interlocutor confronts one or more listeners in an attempt to impress points and face down challenges; in the Tibetan version of dialectics, clever argumentation often comprises a terse question or pronouncement, and each proposition is punctuated with vehement arm-swinging gestures and a loud hand clap. During all this loud action, the interlocutor leans over his listener, who is seated on the ground...

But today we see little sign of any such activity at Tashilhunpo. Most of the monks are hidden away somewhere. Maybe only a few monks actually live here. In fact, as we progress inside the place, we encounter more tourist groups than residents. Most tourists are middle-aged Germans and French. Together, we enter a spectacular temple housing a 26 metre bronze Buddha: I get a photo though I'm not supposed to. One of the attending monks smilingly prevents me taking any more photos...

Each temple at Tashilhunpo has an altar decorated with a photo of the previous Panchen Lama, the thirteenth, who died in 1989. Most of the big temples double as mausoleums for previous incarnations of the Panchen Lama, too. Naturally, a new photo of the current, "official" child Panchen is also present on the altars. Surprisingly, someone has set up photos of both boy lamas in one of the mausoleums: the first photo pictures the boy who was chosen by the Dalai Lama et al, this unlucky child was promptly detained indefinitely by the Chinese. Beside him, decked out in similar yellow silks, sits the official photo of the boy selected by the Chinese government. This same photo is seen in all the other temples of Tashilhunpo.

The mausoleum temples are well-kept. Recently, the monastery was able to build a golden, expensively huge resting place for the last Panchen. My favorite place in the complex is the ancient and cozy assembly hall, with its row upon row of prayer couches and the lovely, subtle glimmer from the skylight above.

As I climb the hill in back of the monastery to take shots of golden roofs, an elderly monk, perhaps seventy years old, joins me for a walk. He's trying to show me the easiest way down to the bottom of the hill. As we walk along the back road, we meet three young monks. They want a look at my face. Now, I've been growing whiskers for the past five weeks. One of the monks, barely out of his teens, comes up for a really close look. Are some of my whiskers really grey? The boy reaches to tug at the barbs on my chin. It hurts. He looks too serious for his own good. I laugh and shrug before walking down the hill beside the kindly old monk.

That's all about Zhigatse. The police do permit Miguel's trip to Lhasa. We get on the bus the next day. But I lose my temper because the police and driver are impatient to move us along, hustling us to load my bike faster than humanly possible, as if our mere presence will cause a riot or something. Control freak nutballs - crushing the Tibetans with their fear of freedom! The valley road to Lhasa is precipitous in many places. Everyone on board is local, except a few Japanese travellers. The little bus is so crammed, I wish I was back on my bike!

Lhasa is five hours up the road. Beyond the new Chinese sector in the west-end is the Barkhor, an ancient borough at the heart of the old city built around the Jokhang temple. Luckily, the bus terminates right along East Dekyi Lam, the street nearest the most popular tourist hotels. I'm due for a leisure rest. Time to read and write and talk to strangers. All I want is a good wrench so I can replace two spokes. Then, I can visit Samye, Tibet's first monastery.

Most of the tourists in Lhasa seem very clammy about finding beds. I go from one hotel to the next as the silently grim American and Germans pass me by. I go to the Yak Hotel lobby. Nobody's talking, except behind my back: an aging but still pretty blonde appears and start to rant nonsense as I wait to meet the desk clerk. Perhaps the woman is suffering from toxic tourist shock - I have no idea why my present failure is so important. When I finally discover that the Yak Hotel is full - I leave - silently managing to ignore the insipidly rude and vain woman.