Early in the afternoon, we reach the customs office, just below Khasa. The staff here shows no interest whatsoever in our luggage, and we pass through customs without problems. Khasa is a depressing town with ugly concrete buildings, a couple of hotels, a police station, and a bank. The latter is a small building with a tiny sign, saying: Bank of China – Zhangmu. While changing money for travellers, the bank staff has a most unfriendly attitude, using old-fashioned, Chinese counting frames.
Following the introduction of tourism in China, the Yuan has two values. Everyday money is RMB (Renminbi), called ‘people’s money’. Tourists cannot buy RMB in the bank, but must buy FEC (Foreign Exchange Currency), called ‘tourist money’, which is 50% more expensive than RMB. In this way, the Chinese get more money out of the tourists, as the two currencies have equal value in the trade. The only advantage for the tourist is that using FEC he or she can buy ‘luxury goods’ in the so-called ‘foreign shops’, where RMB are not accepted. Therefore, these goods are out of reach for the common citizens of Chinese territories, causing a widespread black market for trading FEC to take place – sometimes you can get twice their value in RMB. Naturally, this is highly illegal, but nobody seems to care. (Today, only Renminbi is used in China.)
In the 600s, when Buddhist monks began preaching their faith in Tibet, the Tibetans soon embraced these new thoughts. The local religion, prior to the introduction of Buddhism, was an animistic religion, called Bon, whose followers believe that all things in nature – animals, rocks, trees, etc. – contain a spirit, good or evil, and that these spirits control the actions of humans. Inevitably, the new religion, which was called Lamaism, contained many elements from the Bon religion. (Read more about animism on this website, see Religion: Animism.)
An important issue of Lamaism is to preach that all things are connected. Man’s energy is a part of the energy of the Universe, and to increase your knowledge about these energies, thereby changing your mental level, you can meditate, or you can recite powerful words, mantras. The ultimate goal is to liberate your soul from the eternal series of re-incarnations. This goal is called nirvana. Only the selected few are able to reach nirvana. Most people must be reborn again and again, and the shape, in which this takes place, depends on the number of good or bad deeds you have done in your lifetime. If you have done many bad deeds, you may be reborn as an animal, so it is quite natural that to devout Tibetans, killing is a great sin.
The highest monks are called lamas, and most of their time is spent helping other people to practise a more efficient form of meditation. This takes place in monasteries, and over the years, thousands of these monasteries were constructed throughout Tibet. Most families would send one or two sons to a monastery to be enrolled as a monk, but this act was not at all compulsory. Anytime, a monk could choose to leave the monastery to return to his former life as a nomad or a peasant.
Over time, various branches of Lamaism evolved, often with rather subtle differences. The most well-known of these is Gelug-pa, ‘Yellow Hats’, named after their yellow headgear. Their highest lama is the Dalai Lama, meaning ‘Ocean of Wisdom’ in Mongolian. He is a re-incarnation of the eleven-headed Chenresig (‘Buddha of Compassion’), which is one of The Buddha’s incarnations. The Dalai Lama is also the secular leader of all Tibetans and Mongolians. The present fourteenth Dalai Lama was born in Kham, in eastern Tibet, in 1935, his civil name being Lhamo Döndrup. In 1939, he was brought to the capital, Lhasa, where his was to reside in the Potala Palace (‘The Palace of a Thousand Rooms’). From that day, he was called Tenzing Gyatso, Gyatso being the Tibetan word for the Dalai Lama. (Read more about Lamaism – and about Buddhism in general – on this website, see Religion: Buddhism.)
Chairman Mao and the other communist leaders had informed their troops that the Tibetans had to be liberated from their life as slaves under a theocratic rule, which had gathered immense wealth, while the Tibetan people was living in poverty. These theocrats were influenced by the imperialistic Americans and Brits, who, in fact, had the real power in the country, the leaders told the soldiers. At this time, six Westerners were living in Lhasa, among these two Austrians, Heinrich Harrer and Peter Aufschnaiter, who in 1943 had fled to Tibet from a British prisoner’s camp in India. (Heinrich Harrer later wrote a book, Seven Years in Tibet, about their adventures).
The Chinese, who had expected to be received as liberators, were much surprised to encounter a stubborn resistance from the Tibetans. They were not aware that the theocrats were very popular among the population. The Dalai Lama was only fifteen years old, but was already a favourite with the people. After the invasion, the Dalai Lama had a very difficult time negotiating the degree of self-government in Tibet. Conditions slowly got worse, and in 1959 the Dalai Lama, accompanied by several Tibetan nobles, fled to India, as rumours had it that the Chinese were planning to murder him.
When, in 1965, Mao Tse-dung invented the term ‘Cultural Revolution’, a mass destruction of cultural treasures began, not only in Tibet, but in all Chinese territories. Religious paintings were destroyed, icons were smashed, and monasteries were torn down by gangs of ravaging Red Guards. Violence and killings flourished as never before. Most of Tibet’s production of crops was carried off to China, resulting in the starvation of many Tibetans. One estimate says that about 1.2 million Tibetans died as a result of the Chinese occupation.
After the death of Chairman Mao in 1976, followed by the arrest of the so-called ‘Gang of Four’, conditions changed. The Cultural Revolution came to a halt, and the restrictions on religious practice were somewhat eased. Jokhang, the largest religious sanctuary in Lhasa, which during the Cultural Revolution had functioned as a pig-pen, was re-opened. In many other monasteries, monks were allowed to carry out their duties, and Lamaism again began to flourish. Large groups of Tibetan pilgrims streamed to the monasteries and temples.
In the 1980s, the advantages of tourism dawned to the Chinese, as it would bring foreign currency into China. Prior to the 1980s, it was almost impossible to get permission to travel in Tibet, but from 1982 Lhasa could be visited by groups, and from 1984 individual travel was allowed. Tourists poured into the country – finally the Promised Land was open to travel. Everything you had been reading about and dreamed to see was suddenly within reach. A large-scale restoration of temples was started, but many of the cultural treasures were lost forever.
At first, our journey brings us through lush broad-leaved forest, with many waterfalls. The road soon becomes very steep, the forest now dominated by conifers. Further up, the forest gives way to scattered shrubs, and the meadows are covered in an abundance of flowers, such as the tall, yellow-flowered Sikkim primrose (Primula sikkimensis), white-flowered anemones, and prickly globe-thistles (Echinops cornigerus). Eventually, also the shrubs disappear, the landscape becoming barren and dry. We are now on the Tibetan Plateau. The sky is overcast, but only a few drops fall.
The bus makes a stop in Nyalam, a small and rather ugly town – merely a truck stop with a number of hotels and restaurants. In one of the restaurants – which from the outside looks rather like army staff quarters – we eat rice and fried vegetables, served with green jasmine tea. A lot of Chinese are busy eating, and their eating habits are definitely worth a study. Using their chopsticks, they shovel rice into their mouth, not the least concerned that some of it is spilled on the table or on the floor. Smacking their lips and burping, they throw gnawed chicken bones over their shoulder. When a group has left, their table and its surroundings looks rather like a battlefield.
The rocks around us come in all shades of colours: brown, grey, greenish, red, violet. Some of the rock layers are twisted and folded – proof that they were once the bottom of a huge sea, the Tethys Sea, which, aeons ago, covered this area. About 60 million years ago, the continental plate with the landmass that is today the Indian Subcontinent, drifted north to collide with the Asiatic continental plate, uplifting the hardened sediments on the sea bottom to form the Himalaya and surrounding mountain ranges.
Occasionally, our bus passes through small villages, situated beneath a mountain or along a river. The houses are dirt-coloured, blending very well with their surroundings. People travel in carts, drawn by horses or donkeys. Tree sparrows (Passer montanus) twitter among the houses, and ravens (Corvus corax) scream hoarsely. The river valleys are covered in dense vegetation of grass and shrubs, where thousands of sheep and many yak are grazing. Late in the afternoon, the landscape is bathed in a gorgeous yellowish light from the setting sun.
The hamlet of Tingri – also called Xegar – is a truck stop, situated at an altitude of more than 4,000 metres. The local restaurant is not a very cosy place, looking more like a stable than a place to eat. Small groups of freezing tourists huddle around the tables. No food is served at this time, but our friendly German fellow travellers share their instant soup with us.
Not that I have any appetite. A splitting headache, nausea, and a galloping pulse are sure symptoms of AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness), a condition caused by lack of oxygen in your body. Today, we have ascended from 1,800 to over 4,000 metres altitude, and the air here contains only about two thirds of the amount of oxygen as at sea level. The best cure is to descend, but this is not possible at present.
As if AMS was not enough, I also get diarrhoea. I almost crawl to the tiny toilet building, which has low walls and no roof. This means that during your business you can admire an incredibly starry sky. However, I am not able to appreciate stars or anything else. I swallow a couple of painkillers and creep into my sleeping bag. Throughout the night, I am extremely uncomfortable, my heart pounding. The night seems endless, as I am disturbed by other tourists, who discuss similar symptoms, and by speeding trucks.
Our goal, the town of Shigatse, is dominated by an impressive monastery, Tashilhunpo, situated on a slope and enclosed by a long wall. In former times, this huge monastery was the home of the Panchen Lama, whose religious status is only second to the Dalai Lama. The lineage of Panchen Lamas began with Lobsang Chökul Gyaltsen, tutor of the Fifth Dalai Lama, who, in 1645, received the title Panchen Bogd, meaning ‘great holy teacher’.
For many years, the Tibetans regarded the Tenth Panchen Lama, Gonpo Tseten, as a renegade, who co-operated with the Chinese authorities. In 1982, after 19 years of house arrest in Beijing, he was finally allowed to visit Lhasa. Here he made a public speech in Jokhang, the most sacred of all Tibetan temples, saying: “There is only one human being worthy of occupying this throne: His Holiness the Dalai Lama.” After these words, he once again rose to honour and dignity among the Tibetans, and in his hometown Shigatse thousands of people gathered to pay tribute to him. The Chinese authorities, however, were furious, and the Panchen Lama was severely punished for his ‘reactionary’ speech.
We are staying at a small hotel, from where we have a splendid view towards the great ruined fort of the town, Samdup-tse Dzong, which was destroyed by the Red Guards. On the fort wall, Chinese authorities have placed gigantic loudspeakers, every day blaring propaganda, harassing people. The central part of Shigatse has been bulldozed and replaced by broad streets and concrete houses with very little appeal. We prefer to stroll in the Tibetan part of the town. The houses here are more primitive, but much prettier, constructed of wood and sun-dried bricks. Even though we are sometimes harassed by beggars, Tibetans are generally a sweet and captivating people. They are very inquisitive, but in a friendly and smiling way. You just cannot help liking them. When you consider their terrible fate, you have to admire this tough, strong, and risible people.
I photograph an elderly man, standing in the doorway to his house. He cracks down laughing and invites us in. The courtyard is full of cows, chewing their cud, a young woman is suckling her baby, while an elderly woman – the man’s wife – stares at us, astonished to see us here. She is uncomfortable because of our presence, as Tibetans are not supposed to deal with ‘imperialist’ foreigners. But her husband just laughs, and inside the house we are served several glasses of chang (beer, made from fermented barley), with a little tsampa (roasted barley flour) in it. A corner of the living room is occupied by a large bench, adorned with painted dragons, and a huge prayer wheel, which is turned by the heat from a lighted candle. Inside these prayer wheels are scrolls with written mantras, which are transmitted into the Universe, when the wheel is turning. Before we leave, the man asks us for a photograph of the Dalai Lama, and, naturally, we give him one.
At the market, you can buy almost anything, e.g. rancid butter, packed in goat skin bags; entire dried goats, stiffened in grotesque positions; jewellery, consisting of large pieces of turquoise and coral; traditional medicine, made from e.g. herbs, pulverized horns of hornbills, dried lizards, and musk from the belly gland of the musk deer (Moschus). We also see three pelts of lynx (Lynx lynx) and two of leopard (Panthera pardus). In fact, it is illegal to sell pelts of wild cats in China, as they are protected species, but nobody seems to care.
Tashilhunpo is a huge complex of temples with countless rooms, stairways, and balconies. Between the buildings are courtyards, connected by alleys. Outside the main entrance, a giant swastika, consisting of lapis lazuli, turquoise, amethyst, and other precious stones, has been laid out among the cobbled stones. Every room houses numerous statues of The Buddha, and of various Bodhisattvas (monks that refrain from entering nirvana, instead choosing to guide other people towards the goal), demons, and guardians. In front of the Buddha statues, hundreds of yak butter lamps are burning, emitting a distinct smell of rancid butter. Monks, clad in red robes, chant, some beating large drums or cymbals, others blowing into large conches. The walls are decorated with paintings and tankas (large scrolls, made from cloth), depicting Buddhist motives.
We follow a group of friendly pilgrims around the complex. Many have come from far away, travelling for days to reach Tashilhunpo. They are clad in thick woollen clothes and wear felt shoes, made from goat hair. The married women wear a thick apron around their waist, made from three pieces of woven cloth, sown together, one above the other. In front of each Buddha statue, the pilgrims make small offerings of barley, tsampa, or money.
Before visiting the sanctum sanctorum, merit is gained by circumambulating the entire temple complex along a route, called kora, which is several kilometres long. Some pilgrims prostrate all the way, lying down and stretching their arms in front of them, as far as they can reach. On this spot, they place their rosary, after which they get up, walking the few steps to the rosary, and prostrate again – repeating this procedure countless times. Devout pilgrims travel in this way from their home village to a temple, often being on the road for years. During their pilgrimage, other pilgrims, or resident farmers, will feed them.
From a courtyard, we hear voices and clapping sounds. A group of monks are performing a lesson of ‘intellectual discussion’. Two by two, the monks are facing each other. One monk gives a speech, emphasizing his words by slapping one hand into the palm of the other hand, while his opponent makes comments, whenever he feels like it.
We take our seats in the grass on a nearby hill and wait. Clouds come and go, creating ever changing patterns of light and dark on the mountain slopes. Finally, a tractor arrives with two bundles. Two men proceed to carry these bundles twice around a large circle, in which several fires are burning. The bundles are then placed on a nearby slanting rock, which is darkened by dried blood. The men then take their seat inside the circle. A few minutes later, they get up, pick up some bowls of tsampa, and walk up the slope to the bundles. Facing the mountains, they throw some of the tsampa into the air, shouting, the sound reverberating between the hills. From the rocks, about fifty Himalayan griffon vultures (Gyps himalayensis) take off, soaring over the area.
The two men now begin to cut up the bodies. Arms and legs are dismembered, the meat cut into long strips, which is again divided into smaller strips. In this way, most of the body is divided into small pieces, the skull and the rib case being left intact. The men then return to the circle. The vultures drop from the sky, gorging on the meat, while ravens and Himalayan black kites (Milvus lineatus) do their best to get a share. Occasionally, two birds fight over some tidbit, their heavy wing beats causing a cloud of dust to rise. When their stomach is full, they hop clumsily up the slope, where they begin digesting their meal.
A couple of Japanese tourists, who have approached too close, are chased away by the butchers, who shout angrily at them. They then return to the bodies, armed with large hammers, with which they crush the bones. The skulls are crushed by dropping a large stone on them. This is lengthy work, as the bone splinters must be very small, before the birds are able to swallow them. The broken bones and the brain are mixed with tsampa, which is strewn on the slope. Some of the vultures, which haven’t had their fill, return to the spot, and soon all that remains of the deceased is a couple of splintered bones and a little dried blood.
The giant fort of Gyantse looms above town, situated on a huge rock – a marvellous sight, especially at night, when it is faintly illuminated by a Full Moon. The fort dates back to the 1300s, but is now in ruins – partly as a result of cannon bombardment from British troops, led by Colonel Younghusband, who conquered Tibet in 1904. Tibetan soldiers, armed with obsolete guns, tried to withstand the British troops, but ultimately had to surrender.
Outside the gate, an old woman hands us a tattered note, informing us that there is an entry fee of 2 Yuan (50 US Cents) per person. An elderly man, clad in red and wearing a large, brown felt hat, says an awful lot, of which we understand absolutely nothing. A jeep then arrives with three Chinese and a few Tibetan tourists. We obtain tickets, whereupon the guide opens the large, squeaking gate. He talks Tibetan and a bit of English, but is somewhat reserved during our tour around the fort. He doesn’t mention anything about the destruction, which took place during The Cultural Revolution – no doubt because of the Chinese tourists.
When the tour has come to an end and the other tourists have left, the old man suddenly becomes much more informative. He gives a colourful description of the bombardment by the British troops, and the ravages, caused by Red Guards. The monastery inside the fort has many rooms, and the destruction of cultural treasures is obvious. One of the rooms once contained fine frescos, depicting the eleven-headed and thousand-armed Chenresig (of whom the Dalai Lama is a re-incarnation). There also used to be three gilded bronze statues, but they were stolen, and the present ones are poorly crafted copies.
From the top of the fort, we have a splendid view over the valley, where women are on their way home through the fields, hoes slung on their shoulder. Beneath the rock lies the town, with its huge monastery and the Kumbum. The guide points out several other monasteries, which were destroyed by the Chinese.
The lake side is lovely. In the meadows, Tibetan larks (Melanocorypha maxima) and Tibetan snowfinches (Montifringilla adamsi) hop about, and black-lipped pikas (Ochotona curzoniae) peep out from their dens. Yellow louseworts (Pedicularis tubiformis), red primroses (Primula), and yellow saxifrage (Saxifraga) grow in the grass. There is an abundance of birds in the lake. A goosander (Mergus merganser) swims along the shore with her five ducklings, redshanks (Tringa totanus) and mongolian plovers (Charadrius mongolicus) scold, and on the lake surface, large flocks of brown-headed gulls (Chroicocephalus brunnicephalus) and Pallas’ gulls (Ichthyaetus ichthyaetus) are resting.
Back at our room, we notice that a window pane has been removed. One of my cameras and all un-exposed film rolls are missing. Luckily, the thief has not taken my exposed rolls. The soldiers cannot (or will not) tell us what has happened, but one of them offers to join us to the police station in Nagarze to make a report. The officer in charge is not at all interested, but instructs us to go to the police station in Lhasa. The soldiers agree to give us a letter, which we have to bring to the police in Lhasa, after which we must return to Nagarze with an officer, but – for some reason or other – they demand that one of us stay in the army camp. This is out of the question, so we decide to go to Lhasa to make a police report there.
Part of the way, the road follows the shore of a great salt-lake, Yamdrok Tso, which appears far more barren than the small lake at Nagarze. The bus huffs and puffs up a steep gravel road towards a pass, only to zoom down through several hairpin bends at a tremendous speed. Finally, we reach a surfaced road, and the last 100 kilometres before Lhasa are fairly easy going. From a distance, we see a huge palace, looming over the town. This is Potala, former residence of the Dalai Lama.
“The staff is having lunch. Come back at 4 p.m.”
At 4 p.m., I get this message: “The officer, who is going to take care of your case, is at a meeting. Come back on Monday.”
Sunday morning, we make a visit to the impressive Jokhang Temple – the most important shrine in Tibet. In front of the entrance, two huge clay ovens emit a balsamic fragrance of burning juniper branches. The roof of the temple is dominated by a large golden Dharma Wheel, whose eight spokes symbolize the eight-fold path to nirvana. The wheel is flanked by two deer, symbolizing the deer park in Sarnath, near Varanasi, where The Buddha gave his first lecture after finding the way. (Read more about the Dharma Wheel – and about Buddhism in general – on this website, see Religion: Buddhism.)
Numerous pilgrims are gathered in front of the entrance. They are standing with their hands cupped, whereupon they kneel and finally prostrate, their hands stretched out in front of them. Hundreds of times they repeat this ritual, muttering their most important mantra: “Om! Mani padme! Hum!” (“Om! Jewel in the Lotus Flower! Hum!”) Om and Hum are powerful mantra words, the jewel is The Buddha, and the lotus flower symbolises purity. Some pilgrims have tied flip-flop sandals to their hands, to protect their skin from being scraped off on the rough slates. Others have brought mats to protect their knees. Through the centuries, most of the slates have been worn smooth by pilgrims’ hands and knees.
Inside, the temple is adorned with dozens of beautiful frescos and hundreds of Buddha statues, in front of which countless yak butter lamps are burning. Numerous pilgrims walk along rows of prayer wheels, rotating them with their right hand. Outside the building, monks are bent low over books, studying sacred texts. There is a happy and positive atmosphere here.
“There is no theft in China!” he says.
“I beg your pardon? Well, anyway, I have lost my camera and some film rolls!”
“First you tell me that your camera has been stolen, then you say that you have lost it. We cannot make a report, when you cannot give us a clear account of what happened!”
Astonished, I ask: “You are not going to make a report?”
“No!” he answers, turning his back to me and ignoring me completely. Bubbling with rage, I leave the building.
Quite depressed, Jette and I stroll down the streets of Lhasa. Passing a camera shop, we notice some Kodak film rolls, displayed in the window.
“They are probably your film rolls!” says Jette jokingly. We enter the shop to enquire about the price. As it turns out, they are quite cheap, so I ask for more. The sales clerk leaves, returning a little later with more film rolls, wrapped in plastic, which I immediately recognize. They are my film rolls! With mixed feelings, I buy enough for the rest of our stay in Tibet and China.