Zhongdian...to the edge of the Tibetan world
Trip Start
Aug 08, 2004
1
18
34
Trip End
Aug 2005
Zhongdian, China
Thursday, January 27, 2005
On several occasions, while staring down into the vast abyss outside my window, I started liberally making promises to myself about making my life utterly wholesome and worthwhile and productive, if only I could continue living it just a little bit longer. We arrived in Zhongdian unscathed, if a bit wobbly-kneed
Death trap
. Despite being only five hours away from Lijiang, we might as well have entered another universe. For this reason alone, I was glad we made the journey. We were so close to Tibet I could almost taste it. The vastness of the landscape there, the craggy terrain and rugged people, the thin, clear air and the super intense sunlight all reminded me of Colorado and Wyoming. The foothills of the Himalayas...
Zhongdian is well on its way to becoming another touristy hotspot. The Han Chinese are moving in quickly to set up shop, capitalizing on the "Shangrila" craze and the mystique of the Tibetan culture. The ubiquitous outdoor gear shops and western bars are cropping up-North Face jackets and cappuccinos for all. In the meantime though, the town still has a sort of ramshackle, crude quality to it which I enjoyed. We were one of the few tourists there; apparently wintertime is not a popular time to visit a small town in the Himalayas.
After a dinner of yak meat (looks like beef, tastes like yak) and butter tea, we turned in early at 9pm for lack of anything better to do. The bitter cold forced us to retreat to our hotel room, where we brushed our teeth over a trashcan (there was no running water in the communal bathroom sink) and desperately waited for our electric blankets to work their magic. The 50 gallon bucket of water used for flushing the squatty potties was frozen solid and the bathroom floor had turned into a hazardous and disgusting ice rink. Another note to self: don't travel to the Himalayas in the wintertime with only a fleece jacket to keep you warm. Mellisa and I were wearing every layer we had brought with us: tank tops under t-shirts under long underwear under sweaters under jean jackets...I hadn't showered in three days and my clothes sure as hell weren't coming off my body in Zhongdian
Prayer flags at the top of a hill, Zhongdian
. The next morning we woke up early and took the local bus out to the Ganden Sumtseling Gompa, a 300 year old Tibetan monastery complex. Bathed in the early morning golden sunlight, the monastery looked otherworldly. This was truly the most memorable sight of the trip thus far. I took picture after picture, and yet somehow I don't think I quite captured the serenity and brilliance of the place. Prayer flags flapping in the wind, monks in burgundy robes, golden prayer wheels, snow-capped mountain vistas...sigh.
Mellisa has decided that she would like to find a nice Tibetan yak herder to settle down with. Or maybe a monk, if she could coax him away from his life of austerity and meditation. The yak herder would be preferable though, the yaks being a major draw. I have learned a lot from coming to Zhongdian, but mainly I have gained a greater appreciation for the majestic yak. What a multi-functional animal. Here's to the yak.
As much as we would have liked to linger in the sub zero temperatures, we decided to hit the road. The only way out: an 18 hour bus ride back down to Kunming. So, with a sense of impending doom, we reluctantly placed ourselves on yet another bus
Stupa, Ganden Sumtseling Gompa
. This one was a sleeper bus, and for those of you who have yet to experience this phenomenon, I say this: there is a reason these buses don't exist in the western world. They are horrible, they are unsafe, they are death traps on wheels. Mellisa and I were lucky enough to score bottom bunks. However, we were unlucky enough to have two Chinese men directly above us. Both were chain smokers, both sporting brown leather jackets, smelly socks, and some of the gnarliest, yellowist thumbnails I've seen on any Chinese man to date. They proceeded to light up, all the while flicking their ashes down on the floor next to us. Inexplicably, every thing else went out the window but the ashes: plastic wrappers, orange peels, water bottles. About an hour into the ride I looked down and found a cigarette butt in my lap that had fallen from above. Amidst a torrent of ashes raining down onto my jacket I thought, "So this is what it feels like to be a human ashtray."
I spent a full hour contemplating which would be a worse death: plunging off a sheer mountain face in the bus, or burning alive in my bed, engulfed by a fire started with an errant butt from the bunk above. As the night progressed, the odors on the bus intensified. Sort of a mix between a smoky bar and a locker room
Tibetan monastery in early morning light
. Stale cigarette smoke and sweaty gym socks. Our toxic box on wheels careened down the road with stops every 4 or 5 hours for bathroom breaks. Once the sun went down there was nothing to do or to look at so I drifted in and out of sleep. I was trapped in my narrow prison and trying to use a blanket that was too short to cover my feet and my upper body at the same time. Around 2am I jolted awake when we pulled into the parking lot at a public W.C. (yes, that is what they call toilets in China). It reminded me a little of a rest stop along the Jersey Turnpike, minus the Burger Kings and souvenir stands, but with the addition of several parking lot officers barking orders at the top of their lungs into bullhorns.
We rolled up alongside several other buses and when I looked over, I saw people with their heads stuck out the windows, gasping desperately for fresh air. Alas, fresh air was in short supply. Between the exhaust fumes outside and the second hand smoke inside, I could see my helpless lungs turning from pink to sludge gray. At 7am, in a state of total delirium we rolled into Kunming. I sounded like an 80 year old chain smoker and Mellisa looked nauseous. After having lain prostrate for 18 hours, we were both finding it difficult to walk at a normal pace. I hate to have devoted so much description to a bus ride, but it was really one of the more horrible nights of my life and deserves due mention.
So, back in Kunming. God bless this city for its eternal spring-like weather. Just a few errands to run, a visa to get straightened out, and then we are off for the second leg of the journey: Vietnam.
