About a month later, Doris got a call at 10:30 pm saying we would need to be at the hotel where the film cast and crew were staying, that night and we would be leaving early the next day. I was at a nangma with some of the new students (more on them later) and didn't make it home until after midnight, at which time I had to quickly pack what I would need for the weekend at Base Camp. I was tired, but excited. I had never been to base camp and could not afford to go on my own. The rules here require that foreigners hire a car, driver and guide, and have proper permits to travel to Base Camp, and then there is also the ticket that has to be purchased and accommodations.

Anyway, we arrived at the hotel, which was clear across town and seemed a little sketch to us. At the reception desk, we spoke with the "English-speaking" receptionist, who kept asking us which travel agency we were with. We kept telling her we were with the movie people. Finally, she said she understood and knew who to contact, so she called someone, woke him up, and told him, in Chinese, that his two foreign female friends were here to see him. I was laughing to myself, and she was a bit embarrassed when she was told he had no idea who she was talking about. Finally, she figured it out and took us to the other building where we ran into the Tibetan guy who had been translating for us with the Chinese movie people. He took us to the room that had been set aside for us, and to our surprise, was actually quite nice. The bathroom was larger than my bedroom, about the size of my bedroom and kitchen put together.

We woke up at 5:30am to shower and get ready. We were supposed to leave at 6:30am and were ready to go on time, sitting on the bus where the young Chinese guy in charge of us put us. We were quite surprised to learn that the entire cast was Tibetan, the crew was Chinese, the script was printed in Chinese characters, but the dialogue was all performed in Tibetan. As it was, by the time everyone was on the bus and it was all packed, it was after 7am. We got on the road. The trip to Base Camp is quite a long one, and the plan was to make it to Base Camp, film, and return on Sunday.

Not to long into the trip, we stopped, the guys got off to relieve themselves while all the women waited on the bus, then we started again. In our convoy, there was the bus, a minivan, and an SUV. A bit outside of Lhasa, they passed around cookies and milk...our breakfast. I wasn't too thrilled about eating cookies that early in the morning and Chinese milk and I don't agree if we have to meet directly one-on-one. Doris and I spent most of the next couple hours sleeping.

We went up the Kambala Pass, which leads to Yamdroktso, a very large and beautiful lake. We drove around the lake and on the other side, reached a fork in the road. One fork leads toward Everest, the other leads toward another city to the South. This is the fork we took. It crossed over a tiny bit of the lake and was bumpier than any amusement park ride I have ever been on. A couple of times I was sure the bus was going to fall over, the ruts were that deep.

However, we made it safely across and continued, but not to Base Camp. About five hours after leaving Lhasa (and as many stops for guys to pee,) we almost reached our destination. The road we were on was being paved, with the pavers working their way towards us, and the road past them covered in hot asphalt. There was no option but to climb over the base of the mountains next to the road to reach the camp set up for making the movie.

Now, I've been living in Lhasa for a year, so I'm reasonably used to the altitude and I'd never experienced altitude sickness...until that day. The climbing was actually quite easy compared to how it has been in the past. I've gotten in much better shape since I arrived. However, the combination of the climbing and then staying at over 5000 meters (16500 ft) led to some altitude sickness for me. I didn't think much about it at first and honestly it wasn't so bad. By the end of the day though, I had a pounding headache and was close to vomiting, but didn't.

Anyway, when we reached the little camp, we found that lunch was waiting for us, in the form of a freshly killed sheep that had been simply boiled in an enormous pot. The sheep had been purchased from the nomads that live in this small, beautiful place at the foot of a glacier, and killed by the young men from the Lhasa hiking school, who were also serving as kitchen workers, extras, and general go-fers. The sheep, because it was freshly killed, and had eaten wild grasses and flowers, tasted quite mild compared to other mutton I had eaten in the past. However, mutton is not my meat of choice, nor is it Doris'. A short while later, one of the actors, a middle aged man, offered us tsampa that had been given by the nomads. He explained that tsampa is never purchased among Tibetans, but is freely given, and the receiver may give something in return, but it is not a business transaction. This tsampa was very nice and I was given a lot of it to eat.

After lunch, the crew set up and they started filming parts of the movie. Doris and I were left to our own devices. We spent the afternoon sleeping in an extra tent, wearing our heavy clothes and makeup which had been done by the makeup artists for the film. As evening approached, we were awakened and told to go down to the river where filming was taking place. We went down where it immediately started hailing, then raining. It was frigid.

While they decided what to do with Doris and myself, we stood there waiting, and chatting with one of the actresses, with whom Doris had dialogue. Eventually, the three of us ended up sitting together inside one of the tents for nearly an hour, until they determined that their generator was broken, and with no electricity, could not continue filming that evening.

It was nearly full dark by this time, and we made our way back to the kitchen tent, after I had rather ungracefully fallen into the river trying to jump across. We sat for a while in the warm tent, then went outside to wait for the bus which could now come directly to us. It was then that I saw the Milky Way for the first time.

The band of stars stretched across the sky in a shimmering ribbon that one could almost reach out and touch. The nomads who see this phenomenon every night are indeed lucky.

Honestly, I would have enjoyed the experience more if I had not been suffering a bit from the altitude. As it was, it was a moving experience. The altitude sickness however, caused the young man in charge of us to panic a little. He kept trying to force oxygen on me, and I kept insisting I did not need any. He popped up a little later with some Chinese medicine for headache, which I took. Later, while we were still waiting for the bus, the Tibetan actors also showed their concern and one of the actresses provided me with some rhodiola pills. Rhodiola is an herb which grows here and Tibetans use it to help with adjusting to altitude. It is available here in the form of pills and teas, which are quite tasty.

Finally the bus arrived and we made our way through the pitch black night, the path lit only by a couple of cell phones. I nearly took a fall slipping in some relatively fresh yak dung on the side of a hill. Luckily, I caught myself. Once we were on the bus, we were in for nearly an hour's ride back to a small town we had passed on the way. Once there, it was almost midnight. We went to a small Chinese restaurant where we all ate together. While we waited for food, we were all given something to drink which we were told would keep us from getting colds. It was Coke, they said, boiled with medicine. The medicine turned out to be just ginger. Let me say that it is one drink that I will be happy to never have again once I am back in the States--boiled Coke with ginger. It is amazing what people in other countries do with Coke.

Eventually, we made it to our hotel, about 1am. Doris and I shared a room with the two actresses and quickly settled down, since we had to be back on the bus around 7am.

Morning came early and we went back to the camp, where breakfast consisted of our choice of bread and Chinese sausage, instant noodles, and coffee or tea. Doris' scene was the first to be filmed that morning. After, we went back to the warmth of the kitchen tent. A few minutes later, I was called and told to go down to the river. I was to be an extra from Base Camp. The plot of my scene was that the main characters, who had been lost on the mountain, were spotted and I and the boys from the hiking school, were to be rescuers and help them down the mountain.

To this end, we were set to run across the camp. So, we ran, first in one direction, then in another, then in a third. Then, once the proper angle was established, we ran across the camp a couple of times until the director was satisfied. Once that was finished, we moved to the base of the mountain, where two of the actors had already climbed halfway up. The camera was set at the base and the boys and I climbed partway up and waited for the order. Because we were the rescuers, we were to run up the mountain to the actors...that's right...run.

So, we stood there, waiting to hear the order to run from the megaphone. It was barely audible, but we did indeed hear it, and ran, up the mountain. The first two takes I was able to keep up with the boys. The third take, I was a bit behind, and by the fourth, I had to simply stop. There was not an ounce of oxygen left in my body and my legs refused to move another inch.

That was the final take for us. I collapsed on the side of the mountain, too exhausted to move. One of the boys laughingly offered me the oxygen pillow, which I gaspingly refused.

After they shot another scene, we broke for lunch, which consisted of more freshly killed sheep, and instant noodles, or boiled eggs and bread or any combination of the above. Doris and I were told we would not be needed for anything else and just to relax and rest. The rest of the team moved up to the edge of the glacier to film the final scenes of the movie.

Several hours later, it was freezing and raining and Doris and I were bored. So, we got the bus driver to let us on to the bus where we played cards until they were finished on the glacier. Then, we thought we were going back to Lhasa, but there was some final filming that had to happen. It wasn't until 8pm that we started back to Lhasa. I slept most of the way back, mostly because I didn't want to watch the driving, especially across the pass.

When we arrived back in Lhasa, the bus stopped for everyone to eat. Doris and I stayed on the bus, resting and not wanting to eat at the particular restaurant chosen. The young man in charge of us came back on the bus with our pay. We expected to be paid for only one day, but instead were paid for two.

After everyone finished eating and was back on the bus, we all went back to the original hotel in Lhasa, where Doris and I were given a ride back to university, where we arrived filthy and exhausted. While it was definitely a worthwhile experience, I'm not sure that I would do it again. I suppose that qualifies as my fifteen minutes of fame, huh? I can't help but hope that they cut out my scenes. I don't know how I feel about 1.2 billion people seeing me run on television...

I Never Saw the Milky Way remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This summer has been pretty busy. Some friends of mine came to Tibet for part of the summer, for various reasons. One was doing research, and two others were here on their honeymoon (congratulations, again!) I spent the month of July hanging out with my wonderful friends. It was the next best thing to going home for vacation.

The school year has started again. Right now, there are three old student, me, Doris, and Joe. Two new students have already arrived, a woman from Brazil and a young man from Switzerland. The rest of the students won't be arriving for another week or so. As a result, we are having classes that are about whatever topics we want. This week, we had one lesson about playing traditional Tibetan dice games (to be continued next week), one about modern literature (also to be continued), and a lesson in astrology. Next week, we are going to continue those three topics and have a class of Tibetan cursive.

I'm excited about the new students coming. There are supposed to be 24 altogether. I'm sure there will be some fun ones in the group. Nearly everyone was gone all summer. Most students left either right before the semester ended or soon after. Doris went to Switzerland, Joe was in the States, and then Achana went traveling. It was quiet in the dorm--still is.

I've been spending a lot of time out. I've met a lot of new people lately, Tibetans, admittedly mostly guys and mostly in drinking establishments. There is one really nice, cozy place Doris and I have been going to. It is basically frequented only by Tibetans and usually by the same ones. It is good practice, both for language and singing. The guys there like to play guitar and sing a lot. I don't know many Tibetan songs, and due to a lack of lyric availablity, can sing even fewer, but it is nice, just the same. A couple of nights ago, I was there, and one guy came over and asked if I remembered him. I said no, and he was disappointed. Apparently, we danced together on New Year's Eve at Tang Club. I apologized, but seriously, when you meet a big group of people and dance with them, eight or nine months ago, it is tough to remember one person. Of course he remembered me, because there aren't many foreigners in town. I promised not to forget him, again.

On kind of a sad note, my computer has crashed. I am waiting on my XP setup disks to see if I can save my computer. I'm not so sure that I can, but I'm going to keep my fingers crossed. It's been three weeks already since it went down. Right now, I am borrowing a friend's computer.

On a happier note, I am working with a friend to set up a business or project putting Tibetan music on the internet, probably for download. I'm not sure when things will be completed for this, but it is in process. Stay tuned for more information on that.

It's been really cold here lately. I know it is September, but it's jacket weather already, and I'm thinking about breaking out my space heater. Lots of rain here as well, nearly every day we have some rain or drizzle.

I heard that there are racquetball courts in Lhasa. I'm going to make a little field trip with the new students to the cheese factory and the hotel that supposedly has the courts is on the way. If there are, I'm going to be ecstatic and I will even have someone to play with. Doris' Swiss-Tibetan friend plays squash, which is similar, so he said anytime I want to play, give him a call.

I guess that's about it for the moment. I'll work on staying up to date, now that the page doesn't seem to be firewalled anymore.

Another School Year Begins... remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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First, the Karmapa, the head of the Karma Kagyu sect, recently had a birthday. Some friends and I went to his monastic seat, where he currently isn't sitting because he lives in India. The monastery, Tshurpu, was built in the 12th century and is quite lovely, nestled among verdant green mountains. It's about a two and a half hour bus ride from Lhasa. My friends and I were packed onto a bus of Tibetans, who were thrilled that we were students and going to visit the Karmapa's monastery on his birthday.

When we arrived, we first drank some tea and ate breakfast, since we had left Lhasa at 6:30 in the morning. Then, we began our tour of the monastery. At the entrance to the main temple, we had to argue with the man selling tickets. As students here, we try to pay tourist fees as infrequently as possible. Finally, at the urging of a monk from Tshurpu, the old man let us pass, and since we usually make offerings to the various deities in the temples, fees are a moot point anyway.

Inside the temple, the monks were chanting. We began our circumambulation by making change from one of the many offering plates. Then, the others offered butter. While three of us were waiting, a fourth was speaking with one of the monks. She then came over to us and gestured for us to come back. When we did, we received blessings from the most important statue in temple. The monk lifted it, and as we bowed our heads, and made a prayer, he touched it to the tops of our heads, while reciting a prayer, himself. He told us that the prayer or aspiration we had made would come true.

We continued our pilgrimage, making our way upstairs to the various temples there, and finally into the apartment of the Karmapa, himself. There, we received katas from the monk stationed in the room. Others have seen the Karmapa's legos and comic books, but I confess I was not looking for them, and didn't see them.

After we had seen all the temples at Tshurpu, we went down to the river for a picnic, which seems to be only a verb in Tibetan, linka dang (linka, by itself, means "park"). Others from our bus were already at the river, sitting on blankets, drinking tea and eating. We tried to find a nice place by the river, but it was a little difficult because much of the river bank was swampy...as I found out. I was standing by some rocks, turned to follow my friends, and found myself calf deep in mud. Luckily, I did not lose a shoe or get sucked under, but the mud stank of cow and/or yak poo, as both were present by the river. It did provide a wonderful opportunity for me to wade in the river, which was cool and relatively clean. We sat by the river until the bus was ready to leave. This is a very common Tibetan custom. Tibetans love to picnic and to take their time about it. They will sit and drink and eat for hours, napping in between meals.

While we were sitting by the river, we were facing a green mountain, which seemed to be home to quite a number of vultures. They would fly by five or six at a time. We counted more than twenty vultures while we were resting.

On the return trip to Lhasa, we stopped by a creek, believed to have been blessed by the third Karmapa. Everyone got off the bus so they could wash their faces and drink from the stream. The emptied out thermoses and water bottles so they could fill them with this blessed water. Even the dogs got a sip and a dip.

Then, we visited Nenung Monastery, a very small monastery way up on the side of a mountain. When I say it was on the side, I mean it. The drive up scared me. I was the only person on the bus who feared for her life. The Tibetans thought it was hysterical that I was afraid, but imagine being on a bus, the road is no wider than the vehicle, the turns are sharp, and the incline is steep. At one corner, the bus actually stalled and started to roll backwards. Unjustified fear? I think not.

This monastery is the seat of one of the heart sons of the Karmapa. There are four special students belonging to the Karmapa, called his heart sons. This one is now fourteen years old. We had the opportunity to meet him briefly. He had spent the morning debating, and by 4pm was undoubtedly exhausted. Each of us from the bus filed in with a kata and sometimes a money offering. The Tibetans performed prostrations before offering the katas and money. Then, each of us received a blessed string to wear around our necks. I looked at his face, and poor kid looked exhausted. I can't imagine having to spend the day studying or practicing rituals, then debating, then having to meet all these people. It must be really tough.

Finally, we made it back to Lhasa, uneventfully. I was happy to be able to remove my stinking, damp shoes and my half chuba, which was also speckled with mud, and just relax.

Tshurpu remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The prostrator starts by putting the palms together and touching the forehead, throat and heart, then kneeling. The body is then stretched out until the nose and forehead touch the ground. The hands are stretched out in front then brought over the head, palms together. Then, the individual pulls back to the knees, stands up, walks three steps (or the full body distance), and performs it all over again, while praying.

This is a strenuous activity, and really serious prostrators, some of whom have prostrated from their homes to Lhasa, have large callouses on their foreheads and noses from the repeated touching to the ground.

I went along as a helper. My job was to carry and provide drinks or food or whatever, to those who were actually prostrating. In order to get this done before it got hot, we were at the Potala about a quarter after 5 this morning. The Potala korra takes maybe half an hour to walk if one walks at a reasonable pace. To circumambulate it with prostrations takes anywhere from 5 to 7 hours. (I hears someone say three, but I don't buy that. You'd have to really be booking to make it in three.) So, the prostrations started at 5:30 this morning...in the rain. It had been raining during the night and was drizzling when we left. The walkway around the Potala is incredibly uneven, making large puddles everywhere. Not only was it going to be a long and strenuous morning for my friends, but a cold and wet one as well.

I waited to make sure they didn't need anything, then I began walking the korra. It was nice to walk while it was still dark and people couldn't tell I was a foreigner. Once the sun came up, there were masses of people, most with a comment, although for once, the fat comments were not so prevalent. Mostly people were thrilled to see a foreigner wearing a chuba. Women would ask me if I was alone or if I had friends on the korra, and guys would give me a thumbs up. My butt was only touched twice, by women who were really happy to see my chuba.

Every time I came around the korra, I would ask my friends if they needed anything. I, myself, took a few rests along the way. Each korra is a little over a mile, and while I started out walking rather quickly, my shoes were soon soaked and it is a bit painful to walk in wet socks, although that is nothing compared to full body prostrations.

My friends managed to complete the korra in five and a half hours, a good time in the rain, when the hands aren't sliding so well, and the clothes are heavy. They even stopped for a longish rest with Tibetan tea and bread on the back side of the Potala.

I wore my pedometer today and burned over a pound just by doing korra. Another friend has agreed to go with me everyday if I want, so that I can get a little more exercise in than I already get from walking almost every day.

By the time the morning was over, I could not even count the number of times I had heard, "A ma!" a Tibetan expression of surprise, which slipped from many mouths when people saw my chuba. It was nice, though. They say the rain makes Lhasa people happy, and I definitely have to agree. People all seemed to be in a good mood today.

Chak tsel remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The last week has been remarkably uneventful. At the beginning of the week, we had a meeting to tell us a few "important" things. The first was that there were a lot of students not coming to class and leaving Lhasa without telling the office. In the beginning class, there is now only a single student, and will be until the end of July--poor girl. My own class has had the best attendance, with 75% (3 out of 4) almost every single day. A couple of days there have only been two of us, but that is rare. The intermediate class has the worst attendance. Most of the students are still here (which is not the case with the beginners) but they choose not to come. They are, in fact, missing a teacher, which the office has refused to replace, so they are paying for a class they aren't taking because there is no instructor. An example of the Chinese system. I learned last night that my class, and the other pre-intermediate class will be losing a teacher before the end of the semester, because she is taking a summer English course at the University of Oslo in Norway. My guess is that we won't receive a replacement either.

The second topic, people leaving and not telling the office, was of particular importance. We each have a small blue book which we must give to the office whenever we leave Lhasa so they can record where we go and when we leave and return. However, for weekend trips, none of us have ever bothered about it. This time, though, a couple of students went to Xining, a city far from Lhasa---wait, everything is far from Lhasa... Anyway, they went and didn't tell the office, and were gone for over a week. They got their panties in a twist because if "anything happens, we don't know and can't help." Also, if a student does something inappropriate, the university is responsible and someone would undoubtedly get in trouble. Of course, they also report where we go to the PSB, Public Security Bureau. That way, the government can also keep track of where we go. Nice, huh?

The third topic had to do with a thief in the building. Two people had things stolen from their rooms, without damage to the door. This meant one of two things. Either, someone had the key, meaning the reception staff, or someone went in through a kitchen window, meaning a child or very small person. Apparently, the office ruled out the possibility of someone from the staff. That is "impossible". After all, they have worked here so long, and are trusted. (Personally, I don't trust them that much. They are sneaky, lazy, and sometimes one has been completely insane.) It never occurred to them that it might be the child of the maintenance man and his little friend. They were stealing things from people all winter because they were running around here completely unsupervised. Instead, it had to be someone's friend or language partner doing the stealing. It seems a bit farfetched to me that it wouldn't be someone with a key.

That was the gist of the meeting.

What else? There was something I was going to write about... I'll think of it eventually.

So, the official last day of class is July 20th. Looking forward to that. I have to say though, that life is pretty easy here. The last couple of weeks, friends and I have spent almost every afternoon drinking tea and hanging out. There are a lot of really attractive guys out and about now. The eye candy is nice.

All right. I'm just kinda babbling now. I'll write again soon.

Hanging Out remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The celebrating started at lunch time. A group of us went to a really nice vegetarian restaurant--one of three that we know of in Lhasa, and by far the best. It is truly amazing what the Chinese have learned to do with tofu and various soy products to create fake meat. The particular restaurant we went to is owned by Drikung Monastary outside of Lhasa. The monk who runs it is a young rinpoche (high lama) from Drikung. He's quite funny, a member of the recently formed Lhasa Drama Club, and speaks English with an American accent, which surprised me when I met him.

Anyway, the food is excellent there, but a little pricey, so we don't go often. The birthday girl is a vegetarian, so it was the best choice for the celebratory meal. After a leisurely meal of various types of fake meat and a number of vegetable and noodle dishes, some of us decided to visit a Khampa restaurant on the Bharkor and spend the afternoon drinking tea. The hope was that there would be some eye candy for us to occupy our time with. Unfortunately, the majority of the customers that day were monks.

We left the restaurant after several hours of drinking tea and playing Truth or Dare, which mostly ended up being truth. Dinner didn't matter, but we planned on going to a nangma later in the evening to see a show. We went to a rather large nangma around 10pm, since most of the shows start between 10 and 10:30. Stephanie and I had visited this nangma previously, but the show was drastically changed to accommodate the Chinese tourists who have been flooding the city. Most of the songs were in Chinese, although a few were Tibetan, and there were a few more dances than before, which was nice. One dace involved the whole troupe of guys dancing without shirts. While most Tibetan guys are too skinny for my taste (I don't like seeing rib bones), their backs were quite nice.

Around 1am, the birthday girl and one of the others decided to call it a night and went home. The rest of us, a total of four, went to Tang Club to do some dancing before turning in. When we got to Tang Club, we found some space on the dance floor and danced happily, avoiding disgusting, middle-aged Chinese guys, and younger guys trying to invade our personal space. This lasted until about 2:30am, when suddenly, two guys pulled out knives and made ready to fight on our side of the room.

Bar fights in the States tend to involve fists, maybe some handy paraphenalia from the bar, and sometimes a real weapon. The thing about Tibetan guys here that come to bars, is that a lot of them tend to be Khampa, which means a knife is part of regular attire. When I say knife, though, I don't mean a pocket knife, something small used for cleaning fingernails, slicing apples, and opening packages. I mean a Knife, with an 8 or 10 inch blade, designed to inflict a great deal of harm on someone or something.

Now, the problem with Tang Club is that there is not enough space for security to quickly and effectively reach people who are fighting, unlike Babila, where security has easy access to everyone, and fights are stopped before they are begun by the sheer number of security guards and military men they keep around. So, when these guys started fighting, there was only one security guard close enough to do anything and unfortunately, he wasn't successful in separating these two men.

The second that we heard glass breaking, my friends and I high-tailed it outside to await the outcome. This was a long time in coming. Shortly after we went out, a young man ran out of the club, followed by half a dozen security guards, who chased him around the parking lot. I'm not sure what happened to him, but a few minutes later, the guards went back inside, where the lights were still down and the music was still playing.

Then, guys started coming out with blood on their shirts. It clearly wasn't their own, but someone who obviously had been Knifed inside. One young man came out wiping blood off his face and neck. When he passed us, we could see that the back of his shirt was covered, nearly soaked in blood that didn't seem to be his own. He was standing in the parking lot talking with a friend, when almost a dozen security guards came out and made a bee-line straight for him, carrying night sticks and long, thin metal rods. They surrounded this guy and we were sure he was going to be beaten, but apparently, he wasn't in trouble. The guards spoke to him for a bit, then went back inside. He got in a cab with his friends and left.

We waited a bit more hoping for some indication of what had happened inside. No one who was injured was brought out of the building, nor were any medical personnel summoned. Instead, six police officers showed up in a van. Obviously someone was hurt inside the club, but it was not emptied. In fact, new people were allowed in, where the music continued to play.

After the van of police officers showed up, we left, but not before we saw three guys run out from the side of the strip of buildings and make it out onto the streets; involved parties, no doubt. The saddest thing is that those guys were most likely fighting over nothing important.

It is strange. Knowing that guys here carry knives like that, and knowing that they are prone to fighting when drunk (almost every Tibetan guy I have met here says that he fights when he drinks), they don't do a body check at the door of the club and force people to check their weapons.

Hopefully, it will be a long time before I see something like that again.

Bar Fights in Lhasa remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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There haven't been too many exciting things going on here since I last wrote. In fact, things have been really normal. Perhaps the most interesting thing has been my experience with Tibetan medicine.

Sometime in March, right after we started school again, I started having some really bad back pain. I've had it before, something from high school. It usually goes away in a few days, no problem. This time, however, it lasted for a couple of weeks. When I could no longer walk upright, my friends insisted I go to a doctor. A friend of mine here had her collar bone broken by a thief trying to steal her bag. When she went to the hospital, they put her in a brace which caused the ends of the bones to grow together incorrectly. To repair this, she visited a rather well-known Tibetan doctor at the traditional Tibetan hospital who specializes in bones. In a matter of weeks, he was able to repair three months of incorrect bone growth...with massage.

Anyway, she suggested I go with her to see this doctor. I agreed, and when he made the examination, he knew exactly where to push to cause maximum pain and allow him to tell me that I had a slightly herniated disc in my back which was putting pressure on the sciatic nerve. I opted against a CT scan, because of the cost, and chose instead to do a round of traditional Tibetan herbal medicine. He felt the pulse in both my wrists, then prescribed three medicines, each to be taken once a day.

At the end of five days of Tibetan medicine, I was feeling a bit better, but not much, and so I returned to the doctor, to see what his next suggestion was. He said..."Tibetan massage." I said I was willing to try that, but little did I know what I was getting into. I went into the next room where the intern, who was responsible for massage, was waiting. Once there, I had to remove nearly all of my clothing and lay on the massage table. The intern poked around until he found where it hurt, then he slathered my back with a combination of old butter (minimum age--1 year old) and herbs. Then, he proceeded to do some deep tissue massage, which I assure you was quite painful. After a while, the doctor came in and put his own pressure on certain points, which was even more painful. During this time, there were heat lamps focused on various places, and there they remained until I finally had to say that it was burning. After a bit more massage (total time, perhaps 30 minutes) the butter was removed, I got dressed, and was told to come back the next day and get some more.

That night was nearly excruciating. When I woke up in the morning, the entire massage are was polka dotted with bruises and had a couple of red circles from the heat lamps. Upon my return to the massage table, the intern was quite surprised, but proceeded to work the bruises quite hard and then to burn them with the lamps. Luckily, the doctor decided I didn't need any more massage. Instead, he prescribed more Tibetan medicine and a trip to the hot springs.

I will say that the massage was certainly effective. I had significantly less pain in my back...after the bruises went away.

A little information about Tibetan medicine: it is deceptive. Much of the medicine looks the same--small, perfectly round pills in various shades of brown. They smell quite nice, but the niceness ends with the smell. Instead of being able to merely swallow these pills and have them dissolve in the stomach, most are too hard to dissolve in the stomach. Consequently, they need a little help. This means, grinding the pills into a powder and swallowing the powder with the aid of hot water. There are very few things that are as disgusting as this. And, doing this three times a day was certainly taxing. More than once, I accidentally inhaled powder and ended up showering my room in herbs. Fortunately, this type of medicine seems to be much more effective than the Chinese medicine on the market.

• ****

This month in the Tibetan calendar is Saga Dawa, the most important month of the year. During this month, Tibetans celebrate the birth, enlightenment and death of the Buddha. Any merit gathered during this month is multiplied 100,000 times. Some common merit-gathering activities include not eating meat (to prevent the deaths of animals), performing prostrations around the Jokhang, Potala, and the Lingkor (meaning a large portion of the city), giving to beggars, and making special offerings at temples. Certain days are considered especially important and people make special efforts on these days, circumambulating the Jokhang and Potala, and burning incense outside.

Luckily for me, assistants receive a lot of merit as well. A couple of my friends undertook the prostrating circumambulation of the Jokhang, something which Tibetans are quite fast at, but we had heard took the foreigners 3 hours last year. My part in this was to make the knee and hand pads for my friends. This wasn't very complicated, but there is no way to do the korra without this protection. When you do a full-body prostration, your knees and hands are prone to having problems. The hands, in particular, must be protected because they slide out in front of you on the ground, and back again. I am proud to say that my friends broke the foreigner time record and beat out some Tibetans on time, making their circumambulation in one hour and forty-five minutes. Their next goal is the five-hour prostrating circumambulation of the Potala. Best of luck to them.

• ****

As for classes, they are going well. My reading and listening comprehension keep getting better and better, but my speaking skills haven't improved as drastically. I think I'm just too shy to speak with people spontaneously. I've heard from others here that they had the same problem, but by the beginning of their second year, were over that. Hopefully that will be the case with me as well. I've been listening to a lot of Tibetan music, and that helps with reading aloud.

We heard a rumor that we would be moving to the new campus at the end of the semester. While that sounds nice, considering the falling-down condition of the dorm we are in, some of us took a field trip out to the new campus to see what it would really be like. First of all, the new campus is so far out of town that there are no taxis, and only a single bus. Facing the campus are a total of six small shops, some are restaurants, some quickie marts and others for playing pool. That is it. The campus is out past the edge of the city, and is convenient to nothing but the countryside. However, on a positive note, the buildings look considerably more modern than those currently in use, and the campus is probably three times as large. Unfortunately, it is still under construction, and while there are students and teachers already living out there, they frequently have no electricity or water, not to mention internet.

Apparently, however, the Foreign Student Department is expecting there to be an enormous surge in applicants and admitted foreign students. They built two buildings with something over one hundred rooms for the foreign students. We were lucky to find someone with a key who was willing to let us in to see the rooms. Each room is for one student, but significantly smaller than what we currently have. The bathroom, however, is a thing of beauty. A counter top runs the length of one wall, with an inlaid sink and a large mirror on the wall. Next to this, is a brand new, western style toilet. Opposite the wall with the sink is the shower, and I mean a section devoted solely to bathing. No more straddling the toilet or removing the paper so it doesn't get soaked. It is set up with a curtain and removable shower head. The catch is, no more individual kitchen. Instead, one communal kitchen with three sinks and two gas burners.

Recently, another rumor was heard, to the effect that we are not going to move and one of the reasons given was that the classrooms are too big...if you can make sense of that, more power to you.

• ****

On the party front, I must say, I have been enjoying myself the last week or so. I never party in the States, so I am surprised that I enjoy it here. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that people seem to be more accepting here than at home...and no one knows how to dance, so they look on foreigners as knowledgeable in that area, even if they aren't. Monday night, I had the opportunity to ride in a limo for the first time in my life--strange that it was in Lhasa. A friend of a friend works for a new company that, in part, rents a limo out in Lhasa. A couple of friends and I ended up being out on the night of their company victory celebration and were able to ride around for free, as friends of the company. After a few drinks at a very nice western restaurant, called Dunya, located next to the Yak Hotel, (I recommend the pizza, the house lettuce salad, and the alcohol of your choice--they are quite well stocked), we went to Babila, recently reopened after a dramatic face lift. There, we shared a table with the owner of the sole BMW in Lhasa. This, plus the limo, made me think about the extreme polarity that exists between the rich and the poor. This distinction exists in all countries to some extent. However, I think it is in greater relief here because it is such a small place, and one almost can't help running into the filthy rich and the dirt poor on the same day. I will say though, as someone who is definitely slightly less than wealthy, that I do not mind allowing one of these people to pay for the meal, the taxi, the drinks. Sounds bad, but there it is.

Saturday night, I went out with the same group of people, this time to celebrate a birthday. At Babila, I had the chance to learn a very popular drinking game involving dice (popular, I think, because it is so simple) and listened to the drunken, philosophical rantings of two different men, for about 20 minutes each, while they slurred their words beyond recognition and released saliva onto my cheek while telling me they liked me. One said I should be his Acha (meaning his wife) and the other informed me we would be together one day--perhaps in his next life, when he is not so drunk and closer to my age. If the guy with the BMW hadn't been so drunk on Monday night, I probably would have heard similar things from him, as he would not let my hand go for nearly five minutes.

One interesting thing I have learned recently is that it is possible to rent a theatre at the cinema, and it is cheaper than buying individual tickets to a movie. The room, which seats maybe twenty, costs 100 yuan, or about $14, where a single movie ticket is 30 yuan, or $4. At this rate, four movie tickets already puts you over the cost of renting the theatre, where you bring your own movie, generally one in English. I went to see the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with a few friends, and it, as with all movies here it seems, was dubbed in Chinese. This adds to the benefit of renting our own theatre, and the guys who run the theatre get to see a movie they probably haven't seen before, since they like to sit with us.

That reminds me, somehow, about my birthday. I had my first surprise party. I usually give them, but don't have them for myself. This year, it was reversed. I went out with a couple of friends for lunch. We went to a nice Khampa restaurant, where the view on the inside is what to go for. Khampa guys are just hot. There is no other way to say it. So, that is where we went, so we could look at the guys. Of course, the food is good too. Our favorite there is the sha momo, the yak dumplings. They are huge. It is possible to eat maybe four, five if you are really hungry. They are solid yak meat inside, although, if you are squeamish about fat, don't eat there. You can pour the liquified fat from inside the momo. But, they are delicious.

After we ate, I walked around with one of my friends, the other having gone to make secret plans. So, we sat in front of the Jokhang and people-watched for a while, before going up to a restaurant overlooking the Bharkor and drinking tea while doing some more people-watching. I certainly didn't think anything about staying out all afternoon watching people and drinking tea. In fact it has become a favorite pasttime of my friends and myself.

We returned to school about 7pm, where I learned my friends had bought me some nice bedding and beautiful flowers, and even left a box of Swiss chocolates on my bed (having gotten into my room by stealing the key from the spares downstairs.) I went to Doris' room to see what we were going to do for dinner, where the surprise party happened, and involved chicken cordon bleu, ranch dressing with cucumbers and tomatoes, homemade brownies and chocolate cake. I was thoroughly surprised, which actually shocked my friends, because they were sure I had guessed something by then. What can I say? I'm always the party planner, so it never occurred to me that they were planning a party for me. It was great, though. I really enjoyed it.

• ****

All right, I believe that brings me pretty much up to date. Like I said, there hasn't been much going on. I promise, promise, promise to write more frequently.

Day to Day remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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For Tibetans, however, this day is not the only day of celebration for the new year. Two weeks before the actual first day of Losar, people begin cleaning their homes and businesses. They clean everything from the outside of their homes to the rugs on the floor. It is also the time to buy new clothing. Many Tibetans only buy new clothes one time of the year, at Losar. As I mentioned before, I also bought a new piece of clothing for the new year, a traditional Tibetan dress, which I did indeed wear for the new year, and pictures will be posted shortly.

So, two weeks before the new year, Tibetans begin preparing. In addition to cleaning, they spend a little more time in devotional activities, visiting temples, making offerings, and of course, circumambulating the Jokhang. Many people come into the city to buy gifts. One of the most popular gifts is sha gampo, or dry meat. It is simply raw yak meat that is dried. A half kilo (a little over a pound) of this meat runs somewhere around $8-$10, quite pricey. Of course, it is possible for people to buy the raw meat and dry it themselves, but many people don't take the time.

As the new year approached, the city began to empty. Many people went back to their home villages to be with their extended families, and perhaps three or four days before the new year, the city streets were nearly free of people.

The 29th day of the 12th month, or in Western terms, February 16th this year, is a holiday for Tibetans. On this day, Tibetans free their homes of evil spirits, ghosts, and bad influences. The evening is when all of the action takes place. I had the good fortune, along with two of my friends here, to spend it with a Tibetan family.

We arrived at their home at perhaps 8:30pm. We were invited to drink butter tea and to eat homemade kapse, a deep fried butter cookie, and which taste the same here as they do when I make them in the States, much to my delight.

After a bit of socializing and watching the special Losar programming, which I will address later, we were each given a ball of tsampa (barley flour). We were told to squeeze it in our hands, blow on it, and touch it to shoulders, stomach, legs, etc. This, they said, would keep us healthy during the next year. Then, we ate guthuk, a particular type of thukpa (noodle soup) made especially for this day. Instead of the normal thukpa which is made with just a clear broth, noodles, and beef, this thukpa includes two kinds of noodles, cheese, a few beans, and sometimes small momos (dumplings) which contain small items which Tibetans use to fortell what the coming year will bring for them or identify a personality trait. For example, if one receives salt in his momo, that means he talks too much. If one received peach, this means that he will have good health in the coming year and drolma (wild ginseng root) means that one will be lucky in the new year. The family I ate with declined this part of the tradition, perhaps because the family was small.

When eating the thukpa, one must remember not to consume the entire portion. You must leave a bit in the bottom of the bowl. This gets poured, in three parts, into a larger bowl which contains all of the negative things from the house, collected in small bundles of twigs. This bowl also contained our tsampa balls from earlier. The thukpa, they told us, was to feed the hungry ghosts.

Once everyone had finished the first bowl and the remainder poured into the large bowl, the father put on a hat, which they called a long life hat, and he took the bowl outside to the intersection near their home, and the entire thing was tossed into a bonfire, which had been started by others doing the same thing. The bonfire is at crossroads to keep the ghosts and evil spirits from finding their way back to the houses.

Then, everyone ate more thukpa, and went outside to set off fireworks. Now, fireworks are nice, and it is not always so convenient in the States to have them restricted on type and time one can use fireworks, but it is my sincere hope that those restrictions stay in place. No one pays one bit of attention to safety with fireworks here. Children are allowed to set off any firework, and there are several fireworks here that one actually holds while things explode out of the end. Admittedly, we have sparklers in the States that we hold while they burn, but we do not allow children to light a string of small fireworks that spark like mad, while the child swings the string in a circle, all the while being covered in sparks. Nor do we allow children to hold a long stick, lit at one end, which, as it burns, shoots flame as a small exploding projectile bursts from the end, with no attention give to aim. I do not have statistics on how many firework-related injuries there are at this time of year, but given the examples of firework shooting I saw, I imagine there are quite a few. Admittedly, however, many of the fireworks were nice.

After this, we all went back inside to drink more tea and watch more of the television programming. It consisted of a combination of traditional Tibetan songs, modern Tibetan songs, and Chinese songs. It appeared that the performances, the applause and the bits by the MC's were all taped separately and then spliced together. The audience and the performance were never shown together. One of the most interesting pieces was, to say the least, strange. It consisted of all Chinese performers, one man in a white military uniform, and maybe twenty male, Chinese ballet dancers, all clad in camouflage military uniform leotards. It was one of the strangest sites I have seen here. It was a very serious performance, but my friends and I could not help but laugh constantly, both at the costumes, and at the fact that they could dance with straight faces while wearing them.

Anyway, the next day, many people stay in their homes, finishing any cleaning that has to be done. Losar starts on the first day of the first month, which this year was the 18th of February. Families stay together, playing games, eating, talking, and enjoying each other's company. For three days, including the first, there are visits made to relatives and friends, lots of eating, and lots of chang.

On the first day of Losar, I went out with Ingri, from Norway. We walked around the Barkhor, and were invited to someone's home. Once there, we were given butter tea, chang (which was quite nice), sha gampo (dried yak) and kapse. Then, we chatted, ate and drank for almost three hours before we could politely leave.

On the second day of Losar (this sounds almost like a song...) I went out with two friends, all of us in chubas, to take pictures in front of the Jokhang and Potala. We attracted quite a lot of attention. I was wearing a traditional Lhasa chuba, while Doris was wearing an Amdo chuba. Random people were only too happy to take pictures with us or of us.

Losar is a big holiday here. It lasts until the full moon of the first month, so fifteen days. During this time, nothing is open. And, this year, Chinese new year fell on the same day, so Chinese and Tibetan shops were all closed. There was almost nothing open, including restaurants. There was very little produce and meat available. It was a bit tough for a few days. We wandered around looking for places to eat or hang out, but with very few options.

A week after the start of Losar, I visited the English Corner, a group of Tibetans and some Chinese who like to practice their English with foreigners. The Saturday I went, was the Losar party. There is a new Lhasa Drama Club and they had prepared a short, funny play for the party, and I was asked to tape it. There was also a lot of singing, from various places around Tibet, and general merry-making. Tibetans do like to celebrate things together, many times in a non-alcoholic, and very amiable atmosphere.

I will be happy to celebrate Losar here again in the future, perhaps with more Tibetans next time.

Losar La Tashi Deleg!!! remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I am not really a teacher, and the experience has proved to be a learning one on both sides. However, I feel that I am failing her as a teacher. She never listens, nor does there seem to be much improvement in her English skills in the month I have been tutoring her. We have been doing work on commas and periods, and then working in her textbook, which she ignored for the better part of the break, and now has a massive amount of work to do in a few short weeks. It seems strange to me that someone can study a subject for three years, yet have no real idea about it. When I ask her to write sentences, for example, she does not know the correct placement of nouns and verbs. Her speaking skills are atrocious and she said she is top in her class. Most of the time when she speaks to me, I have to ask her to repeat several times, not because of pronunciation, but because she does not make any sense. It is an almost random collection of words. When I correct her speaking, she never listens well enough to remember the corrections the next time she says the same things. And reading is a complete disaster. She is working in a book that uses short articles with comprehension questions after. I will have her read aloud, so I can correct her pronunciation, but when it comes time to answer the questions, she has no idea about the content of the article. She will answer four out of five questions incorrectly, usually more than once. I have her look up words she does not understand, which has been a fight, every time, and then we discuss the meaning. She says she understands, but then will continue to answer incorrectly.

All right, enough venting. I have a good time with her older sister. She taught me to make thukpa, and last week, on my last day of tutoring, I learned to make momos, similar to Chinese dumplings. The filling is easy, but the shape still confounds me a bit, and I will need to do a great deal of practice before I would consider making them for anyone other than myself.

A few days earlier, I went shoe shopping with my student and her sister. I wanted to buy close-toed dress shoes to wear with my chuba. However, it became clear after visiting every major shoe shop in Lhasa that my feet are too large for dress shoes here. In China, they use both European sizing and their own sizing. In European sizing, I wear a 40, but would probably do better in a 41 since my feet are rather wide. This is impossible here. The highest size for ladies' dress shoes is a 39. In one shop, the sales lady pulled out almost two dozen pairs of shoes, all of which were 39, telling me that because it was afternoon, my feet were larger than in the morning, and so if I wore these too-small shoes in the morning, they would fit. I almost laughed in her face. I could not believe she would try so hard to sell me shoes that did not fit. I think though, that some ladies here do buy shoes that are too small and do wear them. I, however, am not about to do that. So, consequently, I will be wearing my black sandals with a pair of socks, and hope that the chuba is long enough to cover the shoes.

This week, I had an experience that few foreigners have. I was invited by a friend to attend a gold offering at the Jokhang temple. My friend is a foreigner, but a practitioner of Buddhism and the offering was made for the death anniversary of her lama's mother. We walked to the Jokhang, since the weather was quite nice, and on the way, she needed to stop at a small monastery. It was located on a back alley, of which there are many in Lhasa. The lama at this monastery, which I am sure I could not find alone, is well known for divination, and he has been quite busy since it is new year time. I stayed in the back while Patricia gave him what she had brought, then he asked about me, and she told him I was American, and he gave me some special, blessed incense.

We then made our way to the Jokhang. A monk who is a friend of a friend, led us inside, and since there was a gold offering to be done, and we were with a monk, we did not have to wait or pay for entrance. Once inside, we went to the section across from the Jowo chapel. When a gold offering is made, gold dust is added to water, and is then painted onto a statue. The least expensive is the face at 300 yuan (~$40), followed by the body, which runs something over 1000 yuan (>$130), and finally, one can buy new clothes for a statue at more than 3000 yuan (~$400). This gold offering was just for the face. The painter, a monk, paints the gold onto the face, while the devotee circumambulates the statue and offers a kata. Then, a blessed kata is returned to the devotee, in addition to other kinds of blessed items, such as barley.

After the offering was complete, the monk who was guiding us, took us to the roof. There, we had an experience very few, and probably almost no foreigners have had. We shared this experience with three Tibetans.

On the roof of the Jokhang, there is a series of locked doors which are usually covered by drapes, and so are nearly invisible. Inside these doors are the apartments of the Dalai Lama, where he stayed during the Monlam Chenmo, or Great Prayer Festival, a week long celebration, which is no longer permitted in Tibet. These rooms have been preserved quite well, and because of the sacredness of the space, we were required to cover our shoes before entering.

Inside the first hallway was a case containing statues of Chenresig, or Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, of whom the Dalai Lama is believed to be an incarnation. This opened up into a large gathering hall, with a throne for the Dalai Lama, statues of various deities and Sakyamuni in the background. Surrounding two sides of the room were thangkas (religious paintings) of the 21 Taras, a goddess who is known as the Saviouress. Each version of Tara had her own thangka, something which is not so common to see. The next room was a small sitting room, and this was followed by the room in which the Dalai Lama could watch the rituals and dances of the Monlam Chenmo. There was a window with a view directly over the central courtyard. This room contained more statues and two couches.

Down another hall was the private chamber of the Dalai Lama, including a private room for sitting and praying, and his sleeping room. The Tibetans who were with us were quite moved at being in these rooms, and I can understand why. Even in the Potala Palace, one cannot visit the sleeping chambers of the Dalai Lamas.

Overall, the furnishing were quite plain, but the entire set of apartments was carpeted and the statues inside were quite beautiful and seemed of a little better quality than some inside the temple.

Tibet is full of hidden places. Tourists see only the bare surface of what exists here. Even after so much destruction during the Cultural Revolution, there are secrets upon secrets here, many of which are just waiting to be discovered.

Teaching, Rituals and Hidden Places remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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What does matter here is accepting invitations, even if you know you will not be able to make the date, eating more food than one person should safely eat, and not refusing to dance if asked.

I was out one evening with a Western friend and my English student, Tashi. We had spent the early part of the evening in a nangma, enjoying some modern Tibetan rock/pop music. About 1:30am, Stephanie decided she wanted to go dancing, so we went to the newest, and second, disco in Lhasa, Tang Club. We found a table, ordered a couple of beers and Stephanie proceeded to dance. Less than ten minutes into our stay, a rather drunk Tibetan man came over to our table, with a couple of beers he ordered for us, and started talking with Tashi, after the traditional drink together. Although he was drunk, he continued to drink over the next two hours, and by 4:00am, he was thoroughly plastered. He insisted on dancing with Stephanie, but when he asked me, I politely, or so I thought, declined. It was late, I was tired, and was quite ready to go home. However, he kept asking me, and then Tashi told me I was being impolite to this man by refusing to dance.

In the States, it is the woman's choice to dance or not, if the man asks. In fact, many people consider it impolite for someone to keep asking once they have been refused. Here, I ended up dancing with the man, because it is rude to decline the invitation. Instead of simply dancing and then sitting after one song, he left the dance floor after passing me to someone else, who passed me to a third person. That is certainly rude by Western standards. Woman are not typically passed among strangers on the dance floor, when the inviting party has left the floor.

Around 4:30am, we left the club and Tashi insisted that this man join us for an early morning meal at a restaurant down the street. After being quite belligerent with the waitress, this crazy man ordered a bottle of baijiu, chinese rice liquor, which usually runs about 52% alcohol. He wanted to split the small bottle between three of us, since Tashi does not drink. However, I declined, so that left Stephanie to drink with this man. He emptied the small bottle into two classes, and Stephanie, in a brilliant move, was able to talk with him long enough for her to empty two thirds of hers onto the floor. I was watching for this and did not even see her do it. Then, she insisted they shapda, or empty their glasses in a single go. This man was still so drunk, he didn't care.

Finally, we were able to leave the restaurant. We all got into a cab, expecting to drop him home, then go home ourselves. It was after 5:00am, and we were tired. However, this man had other ideas. He told the cab driver to take us to another bar. While we protested, saying he should go home, and that we wanted to go home, the man would hear of nothing else but that we join him in another beer. Tashi said we would stay for five minutes, but of course that turned into 45 minutes. I finally refused to drink anymore, and eventually we were able to leave, although our drunk "friend" remained at the bar, drinking. It was about 6:30am by the time we got home. This evening proved an inexpensive, but taxing lesson in Tibetan politeness.

Being Polite is a Matter of Perspective remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The fortress is perched atop what is probably called a "hill" in Tibet, easily visible from the road, and quite easy to access. At the foot of this hill, there are people with mountain ponies available for hire for those who choose not to walk to the top. To our surprise, there was also a camel. One elderly woman was convinced I would not make it to the top with the use of her beautiful horse. I disagreed.

The walk up to the fortress (it can't even be called a hike anymore) takes perhaps ten minutes unless you stop for pictures, as we did. The surrounding view is incredible. The village below is quite small, and full of farmers, so the fields are plotted out for the spring, making beautiful brown and gray patchwork on the ground. Above, one can see the thousands of prayer flags strung across the adjoining peak.

On the way up, Tashi, who it appears is Tibet's biggest consumer, stopped at every small table with goods for sale, asking about this, or that, and buying frequently. Near the top, there are some incense burners, where we stopped and took turns making offerings.

Inside the fortress, there is not much to see. There are two small chapels and a small courtyard with a wonderful view. Once you visit these chapels, the real experience is actually outside the fortress. Behind the building, there is an open stretch of mountain top. There, more incense was offered and then we took stacks of paper prayer flags, perhaps an inch and a half square. These you throw into the air all at once, off the side of the mountain, where they flutter in the breeze like so many beautiful butterflies, carrying your prayers, wishes, and dreams into the heavens.

Following this, Tashi took our string of cloth prayer flags out to the top of the peak, a bit of a dangerous trek. Like all Tibetans though, he has the sure footing of a mountain goat. He was followed by Kelsang. After making sure that the prayer flags were secure and being properly moved by the wind, he and Kelsang returned.

In the mean time, Stephanie and I were watching and she was also taking video of them, us, and various people that were engaged in the same process. A group of the most beautiful Tibetan children ran by, laughing and shouting back to the camera. Together, they sent their own paper prayer flags into the wind, enjoying every moment, and running back and forth on top of the mountain.

After this, we went back down, and drove out to the tomb of Songtsen Gampo, the 7th century king who assisted with the introduction of Buddhism to Tibet by his marrying two Buddhist women, one from China and one from Nepal. In all honesty, there was little to see in terms of the tomb itself. There is a chapel with statues of Songtsen Gampo and his wives, and a few deities. The view from outside though, is as spectacular as from the fortress. The countryside is breathtaking and one can see a beautiful monastery and palace in the side of the mountain facing the back of the tomb.

Once we left the tomb, we drove back to Tsedong for dinner, where Kelsang and Tashi ordered somewhere around 60 momos (dumplings) filled with mutton. Six months ago, I had never eaten mutton, although I had eaten lamb. Now, I can't even tell if the meat tastes strong or not. Mutton is quite popular here, pushing a close second to yak. Anyway, let's say that I did not leave the table hungry. Tibetans order, and eat an incredible amount of food. It is almost incomprehensible coming from a country where each person orders a single dish for him/herself. However, it shows a great deal of hospitality and generosity on the part of the host. The return to Lhasa was uneventful.

On a more personal note, I would like to say that the bathroom of the hotel in Tsedong was equipped with a scale, the first I have had access to since arriving here. I took the plunge and got on the scale. I would say that so far, weight loss has been quite successful. To date, I have lost approximately 40 pounds. That's an average of ten pounds a month. I was, and am still, thrilled, so I wanted to share that with my family and friends.

All right, we are now up to date. I am still trying to upload photos, but it is still difficult to get the required bandwidth. Please be patient and they will be up as soon as possible.

Braving the Tempest, part II remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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To start with, the teaching has been progressing. I have certainly learned a bit more patience, and having a lesson prepared in advance is a big help. However, she still doesn't do all of the homework that I give her, but she is doing much better. Tashi is doing quite well. He studies hard and will sometimes say a word thirty or forty times in order to perfect his pronunciation. He is learning quickly.

I learned something interesting this past week, myself. I was discussing the tendency of Tibetan men to have rather longish fingernails, comparatively speaking. I mean, next to some ascetics in India, Tibetan men have super short nails. However, there is a particular phenomenon that exists here, and in some places in India, I have heard. That is, the long pinky nail. Now, in the States, a monk came to the Buddhist Tradition class one time and when he was asked about this fingernail, he said it was fashionable. Perhaps that is true, but there is also a more practical side to this. In America, the more "practical" side involves the pinky nail being used to cut lines of coke. Here, it is nothing so drastic, but more immediately, well, a bit disgusting from the Western point of view. Apparently, the long pinky nail is used in place of a Q-tip. Yes, that's right. The long pinky nail is used to collect and remove all manner of ear grunge. Environmentally friendly? Certainly. Socially friendly? Well, let's just say that it is one thing I will not miss.

While that sums up the week, the weekend was quite a different story. Stephanie, Tashi, Tashi's friend Kelsang, and I had planned to go to Samye Monastery on Saturday. However, Saturday was New Year in Shigatse, a city outside of Lhasa. So, there was no car available to drive to Samye, and Tashi refused to get up at 5am to take the bus, and I don't blame him. I wasn't looking forward to that option either. Instead, we left on Sunday.

We had a bit of a late start. We set 9:30am as departure time, but Stephanie and I were running a little behind. About a quarter to ten, we left, but had to stop for a breakfast of thukpa, shabalep, or meat bread, and cha ngarmo, or sweet tea. It was actually a delicious breakfast, if you can stand to eat yak meat at 10am. Finally, we made it out of Lhasa.

The drive to the ferry, which one takes to get to Samye, is perhaps two and a half to three hours long, depending on breaks and traffic. There is a bridge now that crosses the Yarlung Tsangpo river and will take one to Samye, but Kelsang and Tashi prefer the ferry. The ferry terminal is a small building with three boats anchored into the sandy shore of the river. If one has the misfortune to be the only one trying to cross the river, one might have a long wait, as the ferryman prefers to have approximately 14 or 15 people in the boat before he crosses. So, if there are not enough people, you wait and wait until there is a boatload, or you are willing to pay 150 yuan for the hire of the entire boat.

The boats are perhaps 20 feet long and maybe 6-8 ft across. They are flat on the bottom, from what I could tell, and do quite well on the river. In the boat with us were two Tibetan girls who were terrified the entire time. Understandable when the skill of swimming is all but unknown to the Tibetan people in general. Ordinarily, the boat ride seems to take perhaps 40-45 minutes, not including breaking the boat free from the ice at the edge of the river. However, the trip over took quite a long time. First of all, you must realize that, at least in the winter, there is not enough water to cover any of the land that runs down the center of the river. So, the boat goes upriver, around the jetty of land and then, back downriver on the other side. Our trip, naturally, involved this upriver trek, but as we were about to turn and go downriver, a sand storm blew down the valley and slowed our progress immensely. Furthermore, it was nearly impossible to see, not because of the amount of sand in the storm, but the amount of sand in one's eyes. So, in addition to fighting the storm, the wind was intense and whipped the river into a field of white caps, panicking many of the Tibetans, and making it difficult to continue a forward motion.

Once we made it to the other shore, the vehicle available to take people to the monastery was not visible from the shore, and after a few yards, neither were the people that came off the boat. It was like a completely different world. The wind was howling and the sand was flying in sheets. Finally, we were able to see the truck, but there were more people than could fit in it at a single time, so those of us left behind walked perhaps half a mile to a small village outside of the monastery, and waited for the truck to come back. In the meantime, the storm slowed a bit, gusting every few minutes, but with respite in between.

When the truck returned, those of us who were left, piled in--ten, eleven including the driver. Three people were stacked together to my left, two monks and the boatman, I was in the middle with Stephanie on my lap, and there was a couple sitting to my right, with her sitting on his lap. Tashi and Kelsang squeezed together in the passenger seat in front. The ride to the monastery takes maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but the condition of the ground, I cannot call it a road, between the village and the monastery is, shall we say, a bit rugged. There were several times that my tookus came off the seat, even with someone sitting on my lap.

Despite the trials of the boat and truck rides, we made it safely to Samye Monastery, and it was quite worth it. The monastery is built to resemble a Buddhist representation of the universe. The chapels inside the main temple were similar to others that I have discussed in previous entries. However, there was no lighting aside from the butter lamps, which did little to light the inner areas of such large chapels. This did add a dash of mystery and drama to the visit, which I appreciated.

The second floor of the main temple is composed of a single large chapel containing statues of mostly unlabeled deities. The room itself, however, is worth the visit. The ceiling is high, like that of most chapels, but the entire ceiling and the beams and posts which support it are beautifully painted, the beams even having been painted with mantras. According to Tashi and Kelsang, the room was built without the use of nails.

Surrounding this room, about halfway up the storey, is a platform designed as a mini kor-ra, or circumambulation. There are half walls with a lattice on top so one can see the entirety of the monastery from this wonderful vantage point. The next floor contains more chapels.

At the bottom of the stairwell that descends back to the main chapel, there is a secret space between the inner and outer wall, the purpose of which is unclear, but provides enough space for at least 8-10 people to be hidden inside the wall.

The next place to visit is the section of the monastery devoted to the dead. The building, painted red, is adorned with carvings, and various other depictions of skulls. There are two chapels visitors may enter. One contains statues of various wrathful deities, and a particular friend of Chris', Tsiu Marpo. The second chapel will have to remain a bit of an unknown. When we arrived, there was a group of monks in the middle of something, and Stephanie and I did not feel comfortable going completely inside.

At this particular building, there is some renovation going on and other portions of the building were unavailable. Interestingly enough there is also a baboon chained to a post in the middle of the courtyard. Some young monks visiting from Sakya Monastery spent a little time baiting the baboon.

As we left, we encountered a family of nomads from Amdo. In the spirit of generosity that seems to prevail here, this poor family invited us to share their meal. There were happy to give us both meat and a surprisingly tasty mixture of butter and sugar. In return for sharing their food with us, Tashi shared 100 yuan with them, in an equally generous act.

Despite the fact that Tashi was practically gnawing on this yak rib from the nomads, he insisted on eating at the monastery restaurant, and of course, drinking tea. After our rest, we hopped back in the truck and returned to the boat. A short argument ensued with the boatman, who insisted there were not enough people to take across, but no one wanted to wait. It was almost 7pm, and people wanted to get home. So, finally, we went back across the river.

Once across, we gave a lift to the couple that sat next to me in the truck. We all stayed the night in Tsedong, a rather large city, perhaps an forty-five minutes from the ferry. The hotel we stayed in had a rating of three stars, but in my book, it was definitely worth five. The hotel is relatively new. The rooms are reminiscent of the Marriott. There were clean sheets, a mini-fridge, hot water, a shower and a wonderful, new, clean, disinfected Western-style toilet. Complimentary toiletries were available, including toothbrushes, razors, of course shampoo, soap, body wash, body lotion, and by all means, let us not forget the condom.

Once we had washed a tiny amount of sand away and freshened up a little, we all went to dinner about 9:30. We went down the street about a block to a Chinese restaurant, where the guys proceeded to order too much food, again. We ate until the restaurant had long since closed, and went back to the hotel, where apparently, us girls went to sleep and the boys went exploring to find a sauna.

After a very restful sleep, we awoke and got ready at a leisurely pace--well, Stephanie and I did. The guys were up half an hour before we were set to leave, and ready in about 5 minutes. We ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant, then made our journey to Yumbu Lhakhar, but that story will have to wait until tomorrow.

Braving the Tempest remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I started teaching another student this weekend, a 15-year-old high school girl. She does, needless to say, provide quite a different teaching experience than Tashi. This is her winter
vacation, yet she is still taking math, English and Tibetan lessons. Apparently, the time constraints are such that she does not have time to go back and forth between the university and
her home, and thus, I go to her. It makes me a little ncomfortable about teaching when her parents might be home. Anyway, unlike Tashi, who is certainly more mature, she is just like any other 15-year-old, and would rather sing songs, or get me to sing English songs, or play with her hair or mine, than study. So, instead of being able to simply talk and work through things without a plan, as Tashi and I do, she is going to require something more structured. Already, she thinks of me as her friend and wants to go out and do things together. Being eight years her
senior, we honestly don't have much in common, and that would be more than a little awkward, I think.

When I went to her house on Sunday, she insisted that I stay for lunch with her and her sister. I tried to refuse, but unfortunately, "I have other plans" means almost nothing among Tibetans. So, we sat down to eat a ridiculous amount of food. After almost half an hour of eating, I put my bowl down and my student's sister told me I was impolite because I didn't eat enough. Let me tell you, folks, I ate a heck of a lot of food. There was physically no more space, but that also means next to nothing to Tibetans. She didn't seem offended, but was merely stating a fact, I suppose. I simply hadn't eaten enough to satisfy the demands of etiquette.

Anyway, things have been a little chilly. It's in the teens at night and usually barely 40 in the day, sometimes much, much colder. While the weather here is predictable (sunny--every day),
the temperature is not. The heat has been off in the dorm for five days now, so the nights are a bit cold, and the rats are certainly feeling it. They wake me up early in the morning, running around in my ceiling, perhaps digging or chewing, trying to get in. This isn't so encouraging. I'm hoping I don't have to drape my ceiling with steel wool, the only thing they will not eventually chew through. Luckily, they get scared away when I tap my broom on the ceiling.

I have been learning how to make tsampa pancakes. I ran out of white flour the other day and the only thing available was barley flour, so I made a substitution. However, barley flour requires
almost three times as much liquid as regular wheat flour does to make batter. Then, as I discovered this morning, if it is too thin, the regular thinness of pancake batter, it sticks to the pan and refuses to come up. In order to make tsampa pancakes, one must make thick batter, and be ok with either cooking a single pancake for about 8 minutes, or eating pancakes which are sticky in the middle. Other than that, tsampa pancakes actually taste really good, and not at all like regular tsampa. Of course, I'm sure that has to do with the amount of cinnamon I add to the batter.

So, as this week progresses, I look forward to having the opportunity to perfect my tsampa pancake recipe, and gain some patience dealing with a 15-year-old girl. Those are my goals. I
guess we'll see how things turn out next week.

"Tibetans are like gold" remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This morning, my English student, Tashi, spoke at great length about the differences he saw between the West and Tibet, with particular focus on happiness. He pointed out that in the West, we have everything. We have money, cars, houses, food, education, but very seldom do we seem truly happy. In Tibet, it is often the exact opposite. Many Tibetans do not have money, cars, education, houses, or even food, yet, they are often happy despite all of this. He said that many times, the government will provide food for those with none. They will give rice, butter and barley flour, but frequently, the family will then give the food as an offering to a local monastery, at the expense of their own hunger. This, he said, makes Tibetans happy, that they are able to give and provide for someone else. They are happy if they are able to visit this city, Lhasa, one of the holiest places in Tibet. They are happy as long as they have their prayer beads in hand and can recite their mantras.

While I know things have definitely been changing in Tibet, and more and more people, particularly in the cities are interested in making money and having "things", there are many, many people still living in tents, who have no electricity, no modern conveniences, no money, but they are, according to one Tibetan, still happy, even though by Western standards, they literally have next to nothing and live in conditions meaner than any we see among the homeless in the States.

Included in this personal happiness, is a willingness to share it with others. Aside from the occasional unkind person, Tibetans are more willing to help each other than any I have seen. One particular example involves riding the bus. The public transportation in the city is designed for maximum capacity. Buses in America are designed for comfort. They put as many seats as possible so that as many people as possible can sit and be comfortable while they ride the bus. Here, however, there is a row of single seats along either side of the bus and across the back, but the majority of the passengers on the bus must stand. In the States, I have ridden public transportation quite a bit, and it is not often the case that men will offer his seat to a woman, even if she is obviously pregnant. Furthermore, while most people will offer their seats to the elderly, it is done almost grudgingly. Each person will watch the others to see if someone else will get up first so he/she doesn't have to. On the contrary, here in Tibet, it is almost a race to see who can offer his seat first. The young are very solicitous of the elderly, helping them on and off the bus, and of course, making sure they are seated as comfortably as possible. It's as if they treat every elderly person as their own grandparent. It makes for a pleasant environment to stay in.

To this, however, I must add that pleasantness is not always the word of the day. A few days ago, I was waiting for a friend near the Jokhang, standing at the end of the street where a chain is stretched across to keep cars out. Keeping track of this chain, for apparently there are certain vehicles allowed to pass, are usually two men, sitting on stools with very little to do but talk with each other and occasionally lower the chain. As I was standing there on one corner of this street, a young man, probably not more than 13 or 14, pedaled his bicycle-cart between the curb and the post holding the chain. As he crossed behind the men caring for the chain, a woman ran into his cart with her bike, pushing this young man's cart into one of the seated men, causing him to fall off his green plastic stool. The woman left quickly, but the young man was left to face the man. He came around the front of the cart, confronting the young man. Before I had blinked twice, the older man had punched the cart driver in the face. This young man said nothing in return, merely put his hand to his mouth, and kept his head down. The chain guard spoke to him for perhaps two minutes while a small crowd gathered to watch, and some young men, perhaps in their twenties, watched from the opposite corner, laughing, at what, I could not guess. After the chain guard had finished, he returned to his seat and the young man continued on his way.

This encounter requires a bit of thought on my part, and more observation. I understand the chain guard's reaction to the incident, but I would like to understand the young man's reaction more. This is not to say that I hope to witness more violence, but I think this leads back to the way in which the young people treat and obey people who are older then they are, especially their parents and older siblings. Perhaps there is also a greater fear of authority than is openly visible. I would hazard a guess that if someone accidentally knocked over a valet parking attendant or a rented security guard in the States, and violence was committed, one party would be guilty of assault and the other would claim self-defense. But that is only a guess. There is much that goes on here that requires reading between the lines, a skill I hope to improve greatly.

Money Can't Buy Happiness... remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Friday, I had planned to go to lunch with Lauren and Rachel. I didn't finish English class until 12:30 so, Tashi was invited to lunch and Stephanie as well. It turned into quite a group. Well, we went down the street and around the corner to a wonderful jiaozi restaurant. Jiaozi is the Chinese word for those delightful little meat or vegetable filled dumplings that are often a disappointment at Chinese restaurants and called potstickers at T.G.I.Friday's. Here, they are small, about the size of a quarter, and come with a variety of fillings.

At this particular restaurant, we sat in our own private upstairs room. It is quite common for restaurants to have a second floor devoted to seating. We looked at the menu, and Tashi promptly ordered a jin (half kilo or 1.1 lb) of lamb jiaozi for himself, while us girls ordered another jin of lamb jiaozi, a jin of pork and cabbage jiaozi and half a jin of egg and vegetable jiaozi for Stephanie. Instead of having merely soy sauce to dip the jiaozi in, each person receives a small dish with garlic, green onions, and chili, to which you may add vinegar and/or soy to your taste.

I must say that jiaozi are one of my favorite foods. In fact, I eat them several times a week at the vegetarian restaurant around the corner. They are easy to order, since the menu at the "Wonderful Vegetarian House" is in English as well as Chinese. At the jiaozi restaurant, called simply "Jiaozi House", the menu is only in Chinese, so I tend to go there with someone who can read the menu.

Anyway, after our delicious lunch, Tashi insisted that he take us all out the next day, in a friend's car, to eat at his favorite thukpa restaurant, where, he informed us, the pork in the noodles comes from pigs which are raised in the house.

On Saturday, true to his word, Tashi showed up in front of the dorm with a friend's minivan and his friend, as well. Stephanie, unfortunately, was ill, possibly from the egg jiaozi she had eaten the day before, but it is difficult here to judge where food poisoning comes from.

So, Lauren, Rachel and I piled into this minivan and proceeded to drive across town to a rather dirty looking noodle restaurant. I will say, however, that often the dirty restaurants are tastier than the clean ones. I don't quite understand this, but it is true here. We walked through the front room, into an open courtyard with more tables, into a hallway, around the corner, and into another room with more tables, where we finally sat. Tashi informed us that at this restaurant, five bowls of thukpa are considered one meal, and if a person eats 21 bowls, he doesn't have to pay for the meal. Apparently 21 is the restaurant record. Tashi's personal record is now 9 bowls of thukpa. While the bowls are small, five bowls of thukpa is probably close to half a pound of pasta, and it was all Lauren, Rachel and I could do to eat five bowls. We certainly didn't want to be impolite. We didn't see any pigs, though--thank goodness!

Now, as for chubas, they are the traditional dress of Tibet. There are men's chubas and women's chubas. The men's chuba consists of a shirt and a sort of robe that goes over and is sometimes worn with the right sleeve off. A woman's chuba is a kind of sleeveless, floor or ankle-length dress with panels on the side that wrap around and are adjustable. Under the dress, is a blouse, usually with long sleeves. Married women wear a striped rectangular apron on the front of the dress, while unmarried women do not.

Tibetan New Year, which falls in February this year, is the most popular time for chuba-making. Everyone wants to be dressed in new and beautiful clothing to greet the new year. Even foreigners, those of us who live here and are often invited to people's homes for parties, are expected to dress in Tibetan clothing for Losar. To this end, I went with some friends to have one of my own made at a chuba shop recommended by a Tibetan friend.

I have never had clothes made in the States, but there is a certain amount of privacy that goes into measuring. After choosing the fabric for my chuba, a dark color on the recommendation of the seamstress, due to the fact that a dark color would make me "look less fat", I was measured in the front of the store. It wasn't such a great ordeal, but a bit awkward. First of all, I was wearing a t-shirt with short sleeves. Second, there was a whole nomad family in the shop at the time, staring. My friends were kind enough, after a short while, to stand between myself and the staring nomads. Of course, I was also standing right in front of the windows that completely formed the front of the shop.

Today, I went back to the shop to pick up my chuba and choose a blouse. The shop was filled with women, their daughters, friends, and husbands, ordering chubas for Losar. My chuba was brought out, and a blouse chosen by the saleswoman. I took one look at the blouse and informed her it would not fit. She insisted I try it on, so, I put my arms into the sleeves, and stood there, with my arms pointing out in opposite directions, unable to lower them, while other customers laughed at my predicament. I was laughing too, so it didn't bother me at all, and truthfully it was laughable. It was decided at that point that I would have a blouse made. I choose a color with the help of my friends, was measured again at the front of the store, and then tried the dress on to make sure it fit properly. It did, thank goodness, but there was something amusing about my wearing a chuba, that the man watching discussed with the saleswoman. We didn't understand, but he had a great deal to say.

Tomorrow, I will be returning to the chuba shop to retrieve my blouse, which, hopefully, will fit. And then, it is on in search of shoes! That will be an interesting adventure.

Thukpa and Chubas remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This year, I spent it out. As I said, I was at the new disco in town, the Tang Club. It is a bit smaller than the other disco, Babila, the music is a little slower, making it a smidge difficult to dance to all the time, and since it is new, it is packed like you wouldn't believe. The dance floor is so small and the tables so close to it that you end up bumping people who are sitting, while you are dancing. The lights and the lighting are nice though, and overall it was a fun time. They have a giant screen behind the dj table that usually displays various colored lights, but with five minutes to go until midnight, it turned into a giant countdown clock.

I was home by 2am, and went right to sleep, something I do a lot--come home early and go to sleep. Anyway, it was nice, I enjoyed it and met some nice people, with whom I spent the evening.

All right, so the week between Christmas and New Year was a bit interesting. I have started teaching English to a nice man, a Khampa (meaning he comes from the Kham region of the TAR/China) who teaches Tibetan to children living in Shangrila. Yes, it is a real place, and I have heard it is beautiful. It is currently located in Yunnan province, China, but the people there are ethnically Tibetan. This guy I'm teaching is only in Lhasa for two months, so we have class 5 or 6 days a week for an hour or two, or three. He learns fast, studies, and is quite respectful even though I am a bit younger than he is.

We had an interesting discussion about tipping. It is not a common practice in the TAR or in China. In fact, when I was in China two years ago, a friend of mine tried to leave a tip at a fancy restaurant we had eaten at. However, we had just crossed the street outside the restaurant to visit a nice little teahouse, when our server came running out with money in hand to return the small amount my friend had left. The only places here that refer to tipping are the hardcore tourist places. They usually have a tip box on the front counter, but I couldn't say for sure how often people leave tips. I did hear that when Colin Farrell was in town, he left a 300 yuan tip at one restaurant, which was probably almost 100 times the cost of his food.

Anyway, the first week of teaching went well, minus two days. One day, I lost my voice. Why, I don't know. The only time I have ever lost my voice was when I spent too much time screaming on roller coasters, and that only happened once. The second day that teaching didn't happen for me was Saturday. During the day on Friday, my eye swelled up and was oozing. I won't go into too much detail about that. It was not better on Saturday so I asked Rachel, who has excellent Chinese, to go with me to the hospital to see a doctor.

It is an interesting point that there is no such thing as private practice here. You either visit the hospital, or you go without treatment. So, Rachel and I hopped in a cab at 10am and made our way to the military hospital on the other side of Lhasa. I had heard that it was the best, and Rachel had been there before with our friend Lauren. Earlier in the semester, my Japanese friend Minako had been hospitalized for what the doctors thought was appendicitis. In fact, they were going to operate, when it turned out not to be appendicitis at all. She was in the hospital for three days, and some of us went to visit her. I vowed then that I would never be sick enough to have to stay in the hospital. It was dirty, had public toilets that smelled horrible, and people were smoking all over the place.

I would like to say for the record, that the military hospital is not like this at all. It is a large compound, no cobwebs on the ceiling, minimal dirt on the floor, the toilet facilities did not smell, there was almost no smoking and the people were super nice.

So, we arrived at the hospital and asked a couple of people where to go to check in, since they were doing some moving. We found our way to the check-in counter, I paid 5 yuan to get a little gold card and a visit book and then we had our own personal helper. One young woman who worked there took it upon herself to make sure we had all the help we needed. She took us back to see the opthamologist, who was a very pleasant Chinese man. He took a look at my eye and then prescribed two different eye drops and an antibiotic ointment. Apparently, I had developed a bacterial infection, which seemed similar to pink eye. Rachel did a wonderful job translating. Then, we took the prescription to the pharmacy counter where we got the prices of the medicines, took the prices to the counter, paid, got a receipt, went back to the pharmacy and picked up the medicines.

I have to say it was quite a pleasant experience. I was surprised. Even better though, is that two of the medicines I received are in fact Western imports, and less than four days later, the condition is almost gone. Thank goodness.

In the way of random thoughts, there is one thing I have noticed since I have been here. It took me a while to figure it out. In China, when you leave, you say "zai jian" and so does the person you are leaving behind. In Tibet, there are two phrases, one for the person leaving and one for the person staying. The person leaving says, "ka le shu" which means, literally, "stay slow", but means something more like "stay well". The person staying says, "ka le peb" which literally means, "go slow", but means "go well".

A few weeks ago, I noticed a taxi driver say, in Chinese, "man zuo" but did not understand what he said (I was a little drunk and it was about 3am). Sometime later, I heard a Chinese woman, a sales clerk say the same thing, and it being the middle of the day, I finally figured out what they were saying. It has become customary for Chinese people here to say "man zuo" when a person leaves, rather than "zai jian". I bring this point up because "man zuo" literally means "go slow", the same as the Tibetan phrase. There is some degree of reverse cultural assimilation going on, and this is the first linguistic bit of evidence that has presented itself to show this.

Now that I have said that, I'm going to end this entry.

A New Year and Random Thoughts remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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In my class, the only one with full contingent of students, many having already gone traveling or home for the break, we had two sets of "homework" and one real exam. It was just a little nerve wracking not knowing exactly what to study. It wasn't as if we were being tested on specific chapters in our books, but more that our basic knowledge was being put to the test. There was very little vocabulary, things mostly involved grammar points and making sentences. For our actual test, we were required to write a story and then we had an in-class exam. There were no specific instructions given for the story, no length or required structures, just that we were to write a story. After Wednesday, for all intents and purposes, school was over, all the exams were finished. However, unlike a university in the West, we still had class until Friday.

Friday evening we planned a small Christmas party, dinner and a gift game. Rachel made baked potatoes with chili and I made cookies and peanut butter fudge. There should have been chocolate fudge as well, but due to the lack of a candy thermometer and a bit of over-anxiousness on my part, I didn't cook the fudge long enough and it turned into a semi-solid goo. Through luck or something, the peanut butter fudge came out wonderfully and was quite popular.

Anyway, we decorated the lobby downstairs with a small tree with lights and ornaments, more lights around the chairs and paper snowflakes. Regarding snowflakes, I think there should be a remedial class for older people on how to make them. The last time I made snowflakes I think I was maybe 7 or 8, and the skill is hard to remember. Lauren's Tibetan friend did a better job of making snowflakes than she and I did.

So, after the lobby was decorated, we ate wonderful baked potatoes with delicious chili, cheese and ranch dressing. After everyone was finished, we played a gift game. Everyone had brought a wrapped gift. We drew numbers, then each person went in turn, either taking a new gift from the table to unwrap or stealing a previously opened gift. It was quite a lot of fun, even though some of the gifts were clearly unwanted while others were stolen many times.

The only snag for me was an unpleasant stomach bug I picked up on Thursday night. I spent most of the day Friday trying to keep my stomach under control, but lost the battle after eating that fantastic baked potato on Friday night. It is only today, Wednesday, that I have been able to eat without repercussions of any kind.

On Saturday, not much happened. Sunday, Christmas Eve, the Italians had planned to party and had told everyone they were planning, but in the end, did not invite anyone, but rather ate dinner together, which seemed a little strange to everyone, but they are Italians, after all, and have some strange ideas about what is acceptable. For example, it is not uncommon for two of the girls and the guy to spend an hour or two arguing in the hallway, shouting at the top of their lungs. In fact, that is how they spent a great deal of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

So, Christmas Eve, under the presumption that my stomach was better, (it wasn't), I went out with Doris to a nice restaurant to eat some Indian food. The owner had planned a little party. All the guests at his establishment had free mulled wine, which was absolutely delicious, and his male waiters were dressed as Santa. It was a bit humorous to see skinny Tibetan guys dressed as Santa, but they were enjoying it. He had a tree and there were colored light globes spinning, adding to the atmosphere. When we left, we received gift bags filled with cookies, candy and a few small trinkets. After that, Doris went out to party and I went home. For Tibetans and Chinese, Christmas is merely an excuse to party hard and drink themselves into oblivion. They have only received the commercial aspect of the holiday, and I mean that in the strictest sense. Most of the holiday decorations are provided by beer companies, such as Budweiser, and are more advertisement than anything else. They also don't normally give presents or spend time with their families. But, that's ok. Many of us Westerners are not so into the religious aspect of the holiday, but it is wonderful to spend it with family.

Christmas day came. Instead of dinner, us Americans planned a brunch. I thought it would be nice to do a ham for dinner and even bought a pineapple and some maraschino cherries from the import store, but in the end, I was too tired to go to the butcher, argue over the cut of meat and then cook the pork roast (since a ham is either cured or smoked, and they don't seem to exist here) for eight hours in my slow cooker. Anyway, I made eggnog, two kinds of quiche and coffee cake. That, in addition to fruit salad and orange juice, were a little bit of heaven. While they don't have ham, they do make bacon here, and it is what I would term, super-delicious.

After brunch, which ended up happening about 2pm, the rest of the afternoon was spent just relaxing, and of course, I thought about home, a lot.

That night, I borrowed "It's a Wonderful Life" from Rachel and watched it with Stephanie, who, being from Switzerland, had never seen it. Afterwards, I called my family. It was the perfect way to end the day, in lieu of actually being home for Christmas.

Christmas on the Roof of the World remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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I have to say that Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. Aside from the eating business, it is really about being together with family or close friends. Since I started college, I never went home for Thanksgiving. Instead, I made dinner for/with my friends who were also staying in town. There are few things I enjoy more than cooking for a group of people, and it was really exciting this year. Us Americans had the opportunity to introduce our new European, Japanese and Tibetan friends to Thanksgiving. In fact, Rachel and I were so intent on having a traditional meal that several weeks before Thanksgiving we purchased an imported turkey at a ridiculous price.

The only catch with the turkey was where to cook it. The ovens here are tiny things, about the size of a large toaster oven at home. It was going to provide quite a challenge, but we were determined to find a way to make our turkey. The alternative to baking a turkey is, as everyone knows, the Southern tradition of deep-frying. The week before our party, I took the turkey down to the kitchen to make sure they would have a pot large enough in which to submerge the turkey. They assured me that it would be no problem and to bring it back on Saturday.

Saturday rolled around. We split up the cooking, so I was in charge of the turkey, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce (made from cranberries mailed from the US, that lasted two weeks in a box!) and brownies. Rachel was in charge of the pumpkin pie, stuffing, sweet potatoes, and gravy, and Lauren was making the green bean casserole and a veggie tray.

Lauren and I hauled our 16lb turkey down to the kitchen, only to have them tell us that they didn't have a pot, but we could use a wok. Now, let me say that this was indeed an enormous wok, but there was no way that the whole turkey was going to fit, even in this economy-sized, Costco-worthy wok. So, we hauled it back upstairs where Lauren and I managed to cut the turkey into pieces, season it, and brought it back down to our heated oil.

I had never deep-fried a turkey before, so I was a little worried about cooking time and how it would taste. At home, I use a roasting bag and it comes out perfect every time. There we were though, outside behind the kitchen, deep-frying a turkey in a wok. I knew it would take a while, but it took almost an hour for the breasts to cook, and then, while the legs and thighs were cooking, the kitchen shut down and they turned off the electricity we were using to fry the turkey. Needless to say, we were a bit upset that we couldn't finish cooking our bird, but there wasn't much we could do about it at that point.

As for the delicious factor--it was just like home! We even had whipped cream for the pie and ranch dip for the veggies. Aside from the location, and the fact that it took three people and a wok to do the cooking that could normally be accomplished in one kitchen by one person, it was a piece of America. I think there are some photos floating around. I'll see if I can round them up and post them.

After dinner, a few of us went out about 10pm and just danced at the disco. On that note, I would like to add that there are now two discos--that's right, two--in Lhasa. I haven't yet been to the new one, but I'm sure that day is coming.

An Old American Tradition remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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So, the last time I wrote, I was going to go to the Potala. (Those pictures are posted, by the way.) That morning started out with a trip to the post office. I'm not sure if I have mentioned this before, but if I have, oh well. When you go to the post office, usually, you just take the things you are mailing. You buy a box there for your things. Then, you take the box of stuff to the customs counter where they have you write on a little sticker-form what is in the box. After that, you stand in line for the man who tapes the box. No, I'm not joking. If you tape the box yourself, you still have to have the man tape it for you, because, heaven knows you didn't do a thorough enough job. I have never, in all my life, seen anyone use as much tape on a box as the Chinese postal service, (this includes my stepbrother, Matt, well known for being able to make tape disappear). So, you are standing in line for the man to tape your box, and he is good. This is all he does all day. When he is finished taping up the box, it is covered, literally covered, with green China Post tape. So far, you have stood in lines for about 25 minutes. Now, you take the box back to the customs counter where they put on the green sticker that you filled out earlier, with the contents of the package. You are not allowed to actually put the sticker on yourself. It must be done by the customs agent. Then, you take the box to the next counter, where it is weighed, you pay, fill out another form, and finally, if you are lucky, and there are no problems, your package is successfully placed on a pile of other boxes being sent out of country, and it only took somewhere between 45 minutes and an hour, if there were no problems.

That is how the trip to the Potala started out. My friend Doris was mailing a package home, and we were almost late for the tour because of all this line-waiting in the post office. I'm not really looking forward to mailing out my Christmas presents (which will be quite late, by the way.)

When that was completed, we ran across the street to the Potala, where we met our teacher and other classmates. We entered the Potala through the front gate, which is something that is normally reserved for locals, and of course, the most of the tourists were gone at this point, so most everyone uses the front now.

The Potala is beautiful. The original building, so Tibetan history goes, was a small place built by King Song-tsen Gam-po, the 7th century king that brought Buddhism to Tibet via his wives. Inside, there is a small room that is said to be the place that he built. The rest of the Potala was constructed by the Great 5th Dalai Lama and later, after his death, the regent Sang-gye Gyatso. He kept the death of the 5th Dalai Lama a secret for 15 years while the palace was completed. It is a bit over 100 meters high and over 300 meters wide, with exactly 1000 rooms.

To tour the Potala, one climbs up the steps at the front of the building and then works down from the top of the palace looking at what few rooms are open to tourists. Many rooms have been destroyed, either during the Cultural Revolution, or through neglect. Photos are absolutely not allowed inside, and there are cameras and plenty of security to make sure that non are taken.

Now that all the basic info is here, I can say how beautiful it was. While we only saw a few places inside the Potala, perhaps 10 or 15 rooms out of the 1000, it projected history and tradition. We were able to see the official throne room of the Dalai Lamas, various rooms for meditation and teaching, chaples dedicated to Avalokitesvara, and the most impressive of all were the rooms with the three-dimensional mandalas, which are representations of the universe or the abodes of various deities, and the golden funeral stupas of the Dalai Lamas. This type of stupa and funeral is reserved for only the highest lamas. These structures are about two storeys high, covered in gold leaf, turquoise, red coral, mother-of-pearl, they are incredible and not to be missed, if anyone comes to Lhasa.

The view from the Potala is wonderful. It is possible to see the city, nearly from one end to the other, and there are a number of tiny monasteries and retreat houses on the mountains facing the Potala. Beautiful!

This tour took us a total of two hours, one hour longer than tourists get. (We lucked out because we are students.) While the tour can certainly be done in an hour, it was nice to have the extra information provided by our teacher as we went along. And of course, it is nice to just spend some time looking at things, being there, in the space. Unfortunately, I don't think I will be going back. It is 100 yuan to visit the Potala, if you are a tourist, and I don't think dyeing my hair will get me a Tibetan price. Admittedly, 100 yuan is only about $13, but that will buy a lot of toilet paper and thukpa (noodles).

It's late here, so I will end this entry and I will write another tomorrow. Thanks for being patient!

The Potala remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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After we returned from Drikung, I discovered that I had an allergy to some food that I had eaten, so I spent the better part of that week covered in an itchy, welty rash. This is interesting because at home, I have yet to find anything I am allergic to. I have a guess about what it was here, but no firm decision was made.

So, aside from that, the week was uneventful. The weekend, however was another story. On Friday night, three of my friends went out on the town, such as it is here. They returned home at 3:30am, quite drunk, and consequently spent the day lounging in bed. I declined the invitation to go out, since I am not really into that kind of thing.

Saturday night, we were sitting in our favorite restaurant, eating our food in the dark (more on the darkness later) and Stephanie and Doris decided they wanted to go out again. I said I would go with so that there was someone to keep an eye on their things while they were drinking and dancing.

No problem there. It was still relatively early when we left the restaurant, so we found a little place down the street and I had a Sprite while the others had a beer. Finally, at about 11:30, we hopped in a cab and went to a nangma. Now, nangmas are an interesting phenomenon. We think they have evolved out of the Chinese love of karaoke, and the natural Tibetan inclination to sing every chance they get. Inside the nangma we went to, the first floor was filled with people sitting around tables and on couches, drinking and listening to the performer. Upstairs were more tables and recessed couches, but all providing a decent view of the stage. The performance is somewhat like a variety show, with an emphasis on the singing and some instrument playing. Every so often there is a production number or a comedy piece. For the most part, however, the performer sings two songs, and during this time, people from the audience walk onto the stage and present katas (ceremonial scarves) to the performers. The more katas a performer has, the more popular he/she is, and the more songs they perform, up to perhaps 5 songs.

Every so often, there is a break, maybe every 30-45 minutes. During this time, the people in the audience all come up onto the stage and dance. Now, unlike in America where everyone dances with their own style and separated, the Tibetans at the nangmas prefer to begin the dance as a kor-shay, or circle dance. Everyone knows the proper feet and hand movements, and everyone dances in a circle, until the young guys get a bit enthusiastic and go crazy on the dance floor.

This continues for a while, perhaps 10 or 15 minutes. Then, the performance begins again. This goes on and on, while the people get drunker and drunker. We aren't really sure what time the nangmas close. On this Saturday night, we left the nangma at 3:30am, after Stephanie and Doris had jointly consumed eight beers. But, we did not go home.

Instead, we went to Babila, the only dance club/bar in town. Unlike the nangma, there is no traditional music, only modern dance music, with a dj, a small dance floor, and a lot of booze and flashing lights. It is like a transplanted modern club from the States, or from Europe. Everything is mirrors and metal. The choice of alcoholic drinks is quite limited, however. Either a person may have beer, or he may have Chivas Regal whiskey. Unlike in other places, though, you may not purchase a shot of whiskey, you must purchase the entire bottle, which is somewhere in the neighborhood of $50-$60. And then, one still does not drink straight shots, but rather, the whiskey is mixed with Chinese iced tea, a drink so sweet that it makes the teeth hurt when consumed alone. When it is mixed with whiskey, it is actually acceptable to drink.

Now, I am not really the kind of person to get drunk and dance--certainly not dance. However, we met some acquaintances of Stephanie and Doris' from the night before, and he (the other man was drunk, passed out on the table) insisted on paying for drinks, something the men always do here, and offered me some whiskey while Doris and Stephanie were dancing. I politely declined, but he insisted, so he and I drank some whiskey together, and before long, I was indeed, drunk, having done several shots of whiskey on an empty stomach at 4:00am. By 4:15, I was dancing, and at 5am, we decided to leave and do circumambulations around the Jokhang, since it was only a couple of hours until 7am when they unlock the door to our building. (The curfew is 11:30pm--this just means they lock the door with a chain from the inside and we must wake up one of the reception girls downstairs so that she can unlock the door.) It made a lot of sense at the time...

So, off we went to the Jokhang, and we did circumambulations until a little after 6am, but by then, we were too cold to stay out, so we made our way back to the dorm. Luckily, though, we did not have to wake anyone up to get in the building. One of the kitchen girls was already awake, and she was kind enough to let us in through the kitchen.

The next day, Sunday, was our first pot luck in Tibet. Another American, Rachel, and I planned it and invited our teachers, and anyone who wanted to come. It was set for 3:00pm, and I had had a yak pot roast cooking in my slow cooker for an entire day. I will say this about yak--it smells terrible, both raw and while it is cooking, but it tastes just like beef. Rachel, Lauren and I had gone on Saturday afternoon to buy the roast, and managed to get a reasonable discount out of the butcher because we are students, and because Rachel begged so nicely while batting her eyelashes. So, the pot roast was ready, and with the help of Stephanie and Doris, we made mashed potatoes (Doris took off part of her finger nail with the peeler) and fried apples.

When we went upstairs for lunch, it was wonderful. Quite a number of people attended, and everyone brought delicious food, including our teachers (except for one teacher who brought some really unpleasant cheese that had been mixed with butter and sugar. Normally this would be tasty, but when made with yak products, it is pretty yucky. I did try it though...) Over all, the afternoon was a great success. Some of us stayed upstairs until almost 7pm, just chatting and enjoying ourselves.

The next week passed without much of importance happening. On Friday, the culture class went to Sera monastery (which I have a few photos of that I must post.) Sera is an important monastery just on the edge of Lhasa. It was mostly destroyed during the Cultural Revolution, but has been rebuilt. There are, however, significantly fewer monks than there used to be. It was quite beautiful, as monasteries tend to be here. Unfortunately, we were unable to take photos inside of the temples, unless we paid. (Sorry, guys. I didn't feel like paying, and it is a bit strange to take pictures in holy place, anyway.) There was one particularly interesting note--there was one particular chapel in which women were not allowed to step foot. They said it would offer some offense to the deity within.

That Friday, a large group of us went to Namtso, our favorite restaurant, for a little farewell party for a fellow classmate, who had visa trouble and was going back to the States. After dinner, a bunch of us decided to go to Babila (mostly it was Ingrid. She had a bad day. It's a bit of a funny story. She received a package from home, Norway, containing all kinds of presents and an Advent calendar with chocolate, but the package was mistakenly delivered to an orphanage, and they took out half of the contents, meaning presents and chocolate, before returning it to the post office. No one at the post office could tell Ingrid what had happened to her stuff, and when the director of the orphanage showed up to explain, she had already been crying in the post office for a couple of hours trying to get a straight story. Now, when she found out that orphans had possession of her things from home, she felt bad that she was so upset about her stuff. At the same time though, no one offered her compensation for her stolen items.)

So, we went to Babila, and even though it was only about 10:30 when we got there, it was jam-packed with people. Palden, whose party it was, got us a table upstairs and promptly paid for drinks all around, meaning a bottle of whiskey and the tea to mix with it. Until somewhere around 2:30am, we were there, dancing and drinking, and for some inexplicable reason, my dancing, such as it was, was quite popular. I also had a stalker friend, a rather middle-aged Tibetan man who would not leave me alone. I told him I wasn't interested. In fact, I told him I only like girls (a blatant lie, I know) just to get him to go away. It didn't work. It took about three hours of ignoring him before he went away.

After about 2:30, some of our group was ready to go home, so several left, and Stephanie, Doris and I stayed until 4:30am. This time, when we returned to the dorm, one of our friends was still awake and she was kind enough to sneak down the hall and unlock the door for us.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful. Monday came, and during lunch time, I went with Stephanie, Michael, and Mr. Hong to visit one of his masters who lives in town. He was a really nice man, and we sat in his sitting room drinking Tibetan sweet tea, eating cookies, and chatting in a combination of Chinese, Tibetan, and English. We left his place about 4pm and went around the corner to the place where they make the wood blocks for pecha (Tibetan book) printing. Unlike some more traditional places, this publishing house has lasers that make the wood blocks.

After that, we went to the Barkhor so that Mr. Hong could find some mandala paintings to send home to his monastery in South Korea. There were some disappointments before he found what he was looking for at the price he wanted. He stood, arguing with a woman for the better part of an hour, while Michael, Stephanie and I made friends with the stall-keepers around.

During the course of our chatting, a young man walked up to me, pulled my hand out of my pocket and stood holding it, while he said how much he liked me, how pretty I was, and when Stephanie asked if he was married and he said no, he promptly told me we should get married. I can honestly say it is the first marriage proposal I have received, but unfortunately, I had to turn him down. After all, he was only 23, and I found out later, already married. I have heard from others that marriage proposals to Western women are rather common here, so perhaps there will be more eligible proposals in the future...

Other than that, I did spend the week doing some Christmas shopping. It seems early, but it takes about a month for mail to make it to the States from here. So, I went shopping three days in a row last week, and say many beautiful, but expensive things which I could not buy and many things which I would not buy because of the low quality. It is quite frustrating to shop here sometimes, because there are no real mid-priced, mid-quality goods. The majority of things are either high-quality, high-price or low-quality, low-price (for those who know how to bargain, not for the tourists.)

This weekend, though, I decided to try my hand at baking at this altitude, which I have heard is quite difficult. I made chocolate chip cookies, using dark chocolate Dove bars as chocolate chips. While there was some difficulty removing the cookies from the trays, texture- and flavor-wise, they were a great success, and I think I will be making more for Thanksgiving.

On the topic of Thanksgiving, I would like to say that while we won't be celebrating it this week, we will be celebrating next weekend, complete with a turkey! Rachel heard of a man who imported turkeys for Thanksgiving, and we went down to his shop by the Potala, and sure enough, he had a 16lb turkey in his case, which we bought. He only had two turkeys, the other only about 5lbs. So, now we have a turkey, which we will be deep-frying, because there isn't an oven large enough to bake a turkey. Also, if the box from my dad comes through ok, there will be cranberries to make cranberry sauce with, and if my sister can find it, there will be Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving special as well. Of course, we will be inviting our teachers as well, after all, part of this experience is cultural exchange.

Now, onto the subject of weather. It is getting progressively colder, as is to be expected during the winter time, however, the problem is with the heating. The Lhasa electric company does not produce enough electricity to power the entire city during the evening time. Consequently, there are rolling blackouts, and the university is not allowed to turn the heat on until 11:30pm. It is quite interesting to be walking through a city that is half dark. The other night, Stephanie, Doris and I were returning from shopping, and the power was out in the part of the city we were walking in. That did not stop us, however, from eating stick food in the Muslim quarter. A good friend told me that I should not miss the potato balls, and man, was he right! Imagine mashed potatoes, formed into balls, deep-fried, and covered in salty, spicy goodness. <sigh> They are really, really, really good. Luckily, there was electricity at the university, but because they don't turn the heat on until 11:30, it is frigid when you go to sleep, and they usually turn it off pretty early in the morning, so it is frigid again when you wake up. It's pretty difficult to shower when it is 35 degrees in your room when you step out of the bathroom.

So, we are trying to get used to the cold, and everyone is wearing more clothing, and drinking more hot water, but having to deal with fairly regular power outages, or, like the other night, no gas, because our maintainence man doesn't always pay attention to his job. Anyway...

That's pretty much it for the last two weeks. Let me know if there is something specific anyone wants from Tibet, so I can get it and ship it with everything for Christmas.

Dancing here is an experience... remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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So, we all took a deep breath, stripped down and got in the water. Aside from the staring, which was surprisingly at a minimum, it was a wonderful experience to be immersed in hot, hot water, with the coldness outside, and the sometimes disappointing nature of the showering in the dorms, (every so often, when the weather is overcast, the hot water disappears because the heating operates mainly by solar energy.) So, we spent twenty to thirty minutes in the water, then had to get out--it was extremely hot.

It was also interesting to be the only foreigners in the spring and to observe the women there. While they did not wear any clothing in the spring, they continued to wear their jewelry, and of course, the nomad women had the stones in their hair. It was quite aesthetic. Furthermore, because the springs are holy, blessed with healing powers by Padmasambhava, many of them prayed the whole time they were in the water.

When we exited the water, we then had to decide which piece of clothing to dry off with, which we then could not wear because it would be soaked. So, with that decision made, we dried, dressed and met Mr. Hong and Michael outside. We went to the small restaurant there and while we were eating, Mr. Hong told us that we would be visiting another highly advanced teacher, a woman, this time, a dakini.

After breakfast, he asked a nun the way to where this woman was staying. She pointed up the mountain, and said she was near a cave. Well, aside from Mr. Hong, none of us had ever visited any caves, but the mountain was quite high, and I was a little discouraged, and honestly, a little ticked at Mr. Hong for not really letting us know what we were getting into by going on a weekend trip with him. But, it is difficult to stay mad at a monk, so I got over it, and we started up the mountain.

Pretty quickly, I fell behind the rest, and Michael agreed to stay back with me, going slowly, and if I decided I could not continue, he said he would stop as well. So, as we made our way slowly up the side of the mountain, we developed a system of determining short goals, consisting of blob rocks (dirt piles with lichen growing on them), yak poo piles, grey flowers, and prickly bushes. We took turns pointing out the next goal (ex. "Let's make it to the pile of three yak poos.") I will say that I am not ashamed it took me three hours to make it to the small gompa. I made it and that is all that matters.

The view from this mountain is spectacular, and if anyone reading this ever goes to Terdrom, I highly suggest climbing at least partway up to get the view. On the neighboring mountain, is a herd of yaks that slowly make their way up, down, and around the mountain. In fact, we encountered a yak in our path on the way up. He was beautiful, and eating his tether rope.

There is a river that runs between the nunnery and the mountain we were climbing. Across the river and up the sides of the mounains are strung thousands of prayer flags, there are birds flying, and on the side we were on, some nomads were camping with their ponies. Further up the side of the opposite mountain, are some of the holy caves in which Padmasambhava meditated, with more flags, and for a reasonable cost of $7000, you can have a hut built above the nunnery so that you too can meditate in this idyllic locale.

As we continued up the mountain, it was clear that the mountains here are young. The blob rocks seem to be the displacement of the earth from the upward movement of the mountain. They occur at fairly regular intervals, all the way across the mountain. Nothing has been smoothed down, and worn flat over time. As we continued, up, the path got steeper and rockier, but the view was just as beautiful. Unfortunately, it is difficult to admire the view when one is out of breath.

Also at regular intervals, there were piles of stones, placed as prayers beside the path. As we approached one particularly large pile of stones, Michael announced that it was the top of the mountain--it wasn't, for which he apologized profusely. Luckily, the actual top of the mountain was not too far away. When we reached it though, and were able to look over the top of the mountain, we saw--nothing. I was feeling pretty unpleasant at this point (aside from being out of breath, and not owning hiking shoes, which is not good for the feet, I was also getting cold, because I was missing my shirt/impromptu towel. I had a thermal silk shirt and a hoodie, but at that altitude, with the wind, it was not quite enough.) So, we continued over the top of the mountain, following the path, and following the path, and following the path. It continued for quite a while, though luckily across the mountain in a fairly level manner.

At one point, I sat down to take a break, and Michael continued on to the top of a small ridge, to see what he could see, and he shouted back that he found it! Well, I got up, made my way to the top of the ridge, and sure enough, in the distance, on the other side of a small valley, across a semi-frozen stream, there was indeed a small gompa. So, we continued, and as we got closer, we saw Mr. Hong run out of the gompa, shouting, "Michael! Michael!" Then, he waited until we were closer, then came over to us, and walked the rest of the way in with us.

When we got into the nunnery, it consisted of perhaps three or four buildings and I'm sure, there were only a few nuns living there with the Khandro-ma. I, for one, was relieved that they did not have the traditional butter tea, but rather delicious plain tea of some sort.

Now, while this elderly woman that we met may indeed have advanced spiritual knowledge, she looked and acted, for all the world, like anyone's grandmother. She did not want us to do any prostrations and sat with us on a mattress on the porch in front of the small main temple, and she freely held hands with whomever was closest to her.

After Michael and I had rested for a bit, she sent us upstairs to visit their assembly room, then had the main temple opened for us. All the while, her tortoise-shell cat wandered around, in and out of the temple, and in and out of people's laps.

Finally, Mr. Hong decided it was time to leave, and on our way out, this lovely woman gave Stephanie the phone number of the gompa so that all of us could keep in touch. To date, however, whenever Stephanie has called, no one has picked up the phone. And Mr. Hong promised we would return.

The trip back down the mountain was, of course, much faster, and unlike previous trips, I did not need any assistance, whatsoever, on my descent. So, we made our way back to the car, during which time, a nun asked me for my glasses, and I lost my hat.

Because we spent so much time on the mountain, we had to skip the visit to Drepung monastery that Mr. Hong had planned. Instead, we came back to Lhasa, only stopping to eat by the side of the road. At that point, however, I was too tired even to eat. I think we were all happy, though to be back in Lhasa. It was one crazy weekend.

Yogis, Dakinis, and Yaks! Oh, my! Part II remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Ok, so the last time I wrote, I had been to Drikung monastery, and had a blast, although difficult time climbing to see the sky burial site. Well, when Stephanie and I returned, we met Mr. Hong, a monk studying here, and he told us that we would go to Drikung together, since one of his masters is at Drikung, and we should meet him. On Friday, immediately after class, five of us, and Mr. Hong, piled into his car with our scant belongings and left for the monastery, where we would be staying the night, before going on to Terdrom nunnery and Ganden monastery the next day.

In an effort to make the most of our time, Mr. Hong even had the cafeteria pack a lunch for us to eat on the way, so about two hours into our drive, we stopped at a rather scenic spot on the side of the road (what, in the Tibetan countryside is not scenic?) and unpacked our lunch. While we were eating, with mountains on one side, and a rather small, picturesque monastery on the other side, a group of men, going home from somewhere, came upon us eating, and decided to walk up to us and watch. That was an interesting experience. I never knew eating could be a spectator sport. Here, though, especially when the eaters are foreign, it is.

After lunch, and after our friends continued on their way, we continued to the monastery. When we arrived, we immediately visited the main temple of the monaster, Stephanie and I greeting some of the folks we had met previously. Then, acquiring a resident of the monastery as a guide, we began our ascent up the mountain to meet Mr. Hong's master.

Now, little did we know that there would be climbing involved in this venture, but we should have. In Tibet, there is little that does not involve climbing. So, as we made our way up the side of the mountain above the monastery, I thought I was gonna die. The path was quite steep, and rather narrow in places. Furthermore, it did not help that Mr. Hong is as proficient at mountain climbing as any Tibetan and booked it up the path, where he and our guide would sit chuckling at my lack of abilities and breath.

Eventually, we made it to our destination, a small hut where Mr. Hong's master has lived for something like 30 years. In defense of this (for me) really horrible climb up the mountain, we were granted the opportunity to actually go inside the hut to perform our prostrations, meet this yogi, and converse with him, something that the pilgrims who visit him do not even get to do. Instead, they perform their prostrations outside the hut, and give their offerings and receive their blessings through a window.

So, we entered, and the six of us stood in line, waiting to make our prostrations and offerings. I was fourth to make prostrations and offerings. (On that note, I would like to say that I practiced doing prostrations in my room the night before, and despite that, I'm sure I looked like an uncoordinated idiot.) After which, there were two behind me before we were all crouched rather uncomfortably in a room the size of a small walk-in closet. Now, one of the nice things about this meeting was that we were supposed to speak with this man, who despite his 50 some years on this earth, had a look of complete innocence in his eyes. Unfortunately for us, he did not understand our Tibetan, and did not speak Chinese, so, after about 5 minutes of looking at each other and smiling, we left.

As we exited the hut, it started snowing, not uncommon at Drikung in the middle of the afternoon. For some strange reason, I thought that since we had met this yogi, we would be going back down the mountain. Silly me! Instead, we went across to the sky burial site, a visit to which I would deny no one. It is a powerful place. This time, unlike my previous visit, because we were with someone from the monastery, he was kind enough, and happy to borrow the key to unlock the gate, and he let us into the site.

We entered this holy sky burial site, one of the most important in Tibet. It was quite intense to walk up to the circle of stones where the ceremony is actually performed, and to step over bits of bloody human bone, and to watch the ravens pick at them. And of course, the experience is compounded by the smell. It is so completely different from the smell of the animals at the butcher stalls, and totally inundated the space. For all of that, however, it has a beautiful view, being near the edge of the mountain. As we made ready to depart, having completed a circumambulation around the site, things were a bit eerie with vultures and ravens flying overhead and dogs howling.

After this, I was sure we were going back down the mountain, but Stephanie thought it would be nice to do a complete circumambulation of the monastery, so we continued along the mountain, past the monastery...quite a bit past it because we missed the path back down. However, we were able to backtrack and make our way down. Finally, we settled down in the little restaurant and ate a lot of yak momos. Eventually, Doris and I went up to our room in the guest house, ready for sleep at 8:30pm, knowing that Mr. Hong wanted to leave the monastery at 7am. Unfortunately, it was so cold that I didn't get to sleep for quite a long time.

At 6:30, we were up, and getting ready for a new day of adventures with the unexpected Mr. Hong.

Part II will be posted later...

Yogis, Dakinis, and Yaks! Oh, my! remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This past Friday, however, there was only a short lecture and then we visited the Jokhang Temple. For those of you who don't know, the Jokhang Temple was built in the middle of the 7th century to house a statue of the Buddha that a Chinese princess by the name of Wen Cheng, brought with her when she married the king of Tibet. She and the king's Nepali wife, were both partially responsible for Buddhism becoming a court religion in Tibet during this time.

Anyway, every year, Tibetans come from all around the TAR (Tibetan Autonomous Region) to visit the temple, many make prostrations for hundred of miles and many months, to visit this very holy place.

As new students to the university, we were not required to pay the entrance fee of 70 yuan (a little less than $10). There is a catch to visiting the temple, however, and that is no photos are allowed to be taken inside the temple. Thus, I have some photos from the outside and the roof, but not inside. Instead, the ticket is a square cd with photos of the Jokhang. To date, I don't think anyone has been brave enough to actually put the cd in a computer, and I don't think I will be the first, either. So, look for my photos on my album site: community.webshots.com/user/michab3.

When you enter the temple, you are in the main meeting hall, where the monks gather to pray and chant. There is an enormous statue of Guru Rinpoche, or Padmasambhava, and important figure in Tibetan history, responsible for the subjugation of various demons that allowed the first monastery to be built. In addition, he is a tantric master, and quite a popular person in Tibet. Second, is a statue of Maitreya, or the future Buddha. It is believed that the Buddha for this span of time was Sakyamuni Buddha, the historical Buddha that many of us are familiar with. When the current teachings are gone from the earth, however, a new Buddha will descend from heaven and bring the teachings again. This is Maitreya. Then, in between the two, is a statue of 1000-armed Avalokitesvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, probably the most well-known bodhisattva because of his association with the Dalai Lamas and because of his popularity as the goddess Guan Yin in China.

As you go around the first floor of the temple, there are chapels devoted to specific Buddhas, such as the Medicine Buddha, and statues all along the walls, depicting various religious figures. Now, while the tourists rush through viewing everything, sometimes pushing in front of Tibetans, the Tibetan visitors to the temple wait patiently in line to visit each of the chapels and offer butter or small amounts of money. In fact, there is so much butter inside the temple, that the floors are slippery with it, and one must take care, or risk falling on that buttery floor.

Once you have walked clockwise to the stairwell (and Susan, I'm really not sure why it is clockwise--perhaps Dr. Cuevas knows for sure) you walk up and visit more chapels. While this may sound quite repetative, I assure you, it is not. Each chapel has different statues (some labeled, some not) lit by butter lamps in the center of the small rooms, and one is surrounded by Tibetans who have such strong devotion, and who are happy and eager to point out a particular statue or carving of interest that they think you might have missed.

Furthermore, all of the walls, with very few exceptions, are painted with deities, bodhisattvas, buddhas, or other designs, so even if you miss a chapel or two, there is plenty of beautiful imagery to examine. The final room on the second floor is actually up a flight of stairs. It is the chapel devoted to the state oracle, the Nechung Oracle. There are two statues of the deity in the chapel, and photos of the man who is the oracle. During our visit, only one statue was visible, the peaceful emanation of the deity. We were told that on certain days, the wrathful statue is visible, but most days it remains covered.

Finally, you make it up to the roof, which has an absolutely amazing view of the city, the surrounding mountains, and the pilgrims performing prostrations in front of the temple.

The visit to the Jokhang was quite obviously the highlight to Friday. During lunch at a popular tourist hotel, I was convinced by my friend Stephanie, a wonderful young woman from Switzerland, to join her on a weekend trip to a monastery of the Drikung Kagyu lineage, named Drikung Monastery, founded during the early part of the 12th century. One of the important features of this monastery is that it is home to one of the most holy and famous sky burial sites in Tibet. The sky burial is the most popular of Tibetan burials. During the burial, the body is cut into pieces and the flesh removed from the bones. The flesh is then fed to vultures, and here, to ravens. If it can be afforded, many people choose to bring their dead to this place for burial.

Our journey started at 6:30am on Saturday, when we left the dorm to make our way to the bus station, full of buses designed for use by local populations, not foreigners. Because of this, they refused to sell us tickets, but we were told by a wonderfully helpful man that if we hop on the bus, we could then pay the driver. So, we waited until about 20 minutes till 7, when the bus driver appeared and opened the door. Now, I know that having a seat on a bus when the trip is four hours long, is important, but I have never seen people shove so hard to get onto a bus. Stephanie and I managed to get seats, but not without paying the price to the pickpockets hanging around at the bus station. During the mad rush to get on the bus, Stephanie's cell phone was stolen, and so was my packet of tissues. Certainly not a big loss for me, but it was the second time in three weeks that Stephanie was robbed.

So, we managed to find seats, originally together, but we were separated by the Tibetan women sitting in front of the bus, who were definitely like a bunch of mothers, tsking about Stephanie's lost phone, and commenting about my size. Nothing new there. Then, when I thought we were ready to leave, suddenly there are five more people getting on the bus, which was already out of seats. Instead, they placed a rather large bag of apples and a bag of tsampa (roasted barley flour) in the middle of the bus floor, and three women sat on that. Two of the women were nuns and were quite amused by me during the trip. One amusing thing was of course my size, and there was a lot of arm and thigh touching going on. Second was the fact that the nun sitting a little to the front of me, kept trying to speak to me in Tibetan and aside from the general comments about name and native country and being a student, I did not understand what she said to me. Many of her words sounded strange, perhaps an accent from somewhere. So, it was amusing that I didn't understand what she said to me.

After about three and a half hours of beautiful landscape, we arrived at Terdrom nunnery, which is also a hot spring "resort". The bus driver took a break for lunch, so Stephanie and I hopped off the bus, helped the ladies down the hill with all of their luggage for their weekend stay at the spring, and then ate at the restaurant. I did take some photos of this nunnery, so they are available.

About a quarter to 1, we went back up the hill, making sure we were on time for the driver, so we could leave promptly and so we wouldn't miss the bus. But, the bus driver did not show up until 1:30. While we waited, Stephanie and I chatted with some people at the top of the hill where the cars park. Again, there was a communication problem with accent, bu I'm sure that will get better with time. What I did understand, was that one of the nuns I was sitting next to, most definitely said that I should not go back to Lhasa, but should stay there at the nunnery and be a nun. I apologized, and said I had to go back to Lhasa and study. But I suppose it is nice to know that option is available.

Finally, we get back on the bus, drive for maybe half an hour, and make it to Drikung. The monastery is beautiful, built into the side of a mountain. There is a road going up, thank goodness, but the bus didn't stay. Instead, the driver said that we were to meet him at 9am down in the town at the base of the mountain.

So, Stephanie and I got settled at the monastery guest house, which was surprisingly clean and the bedding looked almost new. Then we went out to explore a little. We were at the main temple just after the monks finished, so we were able to go inside. We took our shoes off, even though the monks said we didn't have to. I think they appreciated it, although I'm sure they take their shoes off because they do have to.

Inside the temple were more beautiful statues, like we had seen in the Jokhang. My favorite deity, Tara, has a wonderful statue there, and we offered a kata (ceremonial scarf) to a statue of Padmasambhava. We worked our way around the temple, and came, at last to a corner where the monks had made a sand mandala. Unfortunately, I do not remember the name of the person whose mandala it is.

Next, we started the circumambulation of the monastery, turning prayer wheels, and following a group of nomads through various smaller chapels in the monastery. Finally, Stephanie went with the nomads up towards the top of the mountain, where I decided I should not go. Not being in great physical shape, and seeing the steepness of the path, I decided to stay behind. I stood looking out at the town for a while. Then, a Tibetan family, an elderly man, woman, and their daughter, a nun, whom we had seen on the bus, asked me where my friend was, I told them, and they invited me to go with them. I followed them to a chapel which looked fairly new, and contained statues of some of the great yogis, including Marpa, Milarepa, and Gampopa. After that, the man said they were going to the sky burial site and I should go with them, so I did.

Now, later, when I said where I had been to another Tibetan woman we met on the bus, she said it was not far to the sky burial site, however, in my lexicon, an hour hike up to the top of a mountain constitutes a long distance. However, to Tibetans, climbing mountains is nothing. So, I would like to announce, that I climbed my first mountain at Drikung. The sky burial site was amazing. While it is not legal to take pictures, so I did not, I know that it will remain with me without photos. On top of the mountain, is a large square, fenced off and locked, to keep people out. Inside the square is a small area surrounded by rocks, and a small building. Obviously, in the not too distant past, perhaps even Saturday morning, there had been a sky burial--the ravens were still eating. There were perhaps two or three dozen ravens inside the circle of stones. For all that there were so many birds, it was eerily quiet on top of the mountain. No sounds except those that we were making.

After perhaps twenty minutes, we made our way back down the mountain, which was not so easy. While it was difficult going up, going down was even harder, with the sandy path providing a good place for one to slide off the side of the mountain. If it hadn't been for that wonderful man, I probably would have gone down the mountain the hard way. He stopped me from sliding three times, and kept hold of my hand until we were on more level ground.

Back at the monastery, Stephanie had been looking for me, and found me chatting with a couple of the monks. The monks here are super nice, and friendly. Well, once Stephanie found out where I had been, nothing would do but that she had to leave right then and go for herself. As she was leaving, it was obvious that snow was coming and she would be climbing in the storm. While this concerned me, it did not bother her too much, and she went and came back in an hour's time. While she was gone, the monks were in the courtyard in front of the main temple, preparing a body for burial, chanting, and praying as the snow fell around them.

After Stephanie returned, we went to eat, and had the opportunity to eat in the kitchen with the workers and a few of the monks. We had absolutely delicious yak momos (dumplings) and chatted with the guys in the kitchen for probably an hour. One thing about Tibetans that distinguishes them from their Chinese neighbors, is that Tibetans have a wonderful sense of humor. They know how to take jokes, and how to give back as good as they get.

Then, we went to sleep, even though it was only about 8:30. We were quite tired, and it was rally cold outside, so we bundled up in our beds, and slept.

Morning came, and at 6:30, no one was up at the monastery, so we stayed in bed until 7:30, then went down to see about breakfast, but the guys that work in the kitchen apparently slept in too, because there was no breakfast.

We left the monastery a little after 8, and made our way down the mountain, not via the road by which we had come, but by the path that was made down the middle of the mountain from the center of the monastery to the center of the town below. We were told that the way down takes about half and hour, so I was sure we were going to miss the bus, because I was sure I couldn't go down the path in half an hour. In fact, it took us about 45 minutes. There were a couple of times though, when I was really quite scared, I am not ashamed to say. It was tough, me not being a mountain person. Stephanie was the soul of patience, though, and refused to let me stay scared or freak out.

So, we made it safely down the mountain, in time for the bus, only...the bus was late, and almost full when it stopped in the town. The trip back to Lhasa was relatively uneventful, about the same as going to Drikung. The trip was definitely worth the effort. I learned a lot about myself, and managed to work through my fear of falling off a mountain. I can't say it won't happen again while I am here, but I will be able to have a little more confidence in myself. I was able to push myself as well, to finish climbing to the top of the mountain where the burial site is. Not too long ago, I would have given up, but my Tibetan friends did not let me give up. They were patient and waited for me to catch my breath, and join them. They did not care how long it took me, so long as I made it to the top to share in the experience with them.

After this excursion, I would like there to be a little time before I have to climb any more mountains, either up or down, but I am certainly excited about seeing other places here. The landscape is so beautiful, and the people are so wonderful, I can hardly wait until next weekend!

Ancient Building and Ravens remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This past week and a half has provided a wonderful opportunity for me to gain a great deal of patience. Now, everyone reading this knows that I am not a skinny person, by any means, but in America, people more or less forget that, since there are many others like me. Here, however, there are very few people that a anywhere near my size. Tibetans in general seem to be healthy weights. They are not generally skinny in the Western supermodel sense, but many are just physically small, and not many people seem to carry much extra weight. While I expected to be stared at as a rather white foreigner, I did not expect the number of people that just outright say I am fat, and believe me, there are a lot of people that comment on it, or take their time staring, while my friends and I are in the Barkhor. There seems to be a distinction though. The people who are city dwellers, and the elderly women, in particular, disapprove. One woman walked beside me, said I was too fat, hit my backside, and said it again, all the while with a rather sour look on her face, tsking at me. On the other hand, those who are coming from outside the city as pilgrims or nomads, (of which I have been told there will be an ever increasing amount as we make it through October and into November) tend to give me a thumbs up. In fact, the other day, two rather tall young men came back for a second look, and a day later, Doris and I ran into one of them again, and he wanted to take a picture with me. So, while it is good for my patience and character development to deal with staring people every day, I will be very glad when I have lost some weight.

As for visiting some of the beautiful places here, it is outside of my budget to travel this week, although many of my new friends are, and it is generally agreed that waiting until tourist season is over, is the best option for seeing most of the famous places in town, such as the Potala. Even though winter weather may make it a bit unpleasant to go sightseeing, an hour in the Potala (which is the time allotted during tourist season) is not nearly enough.

After my rather horrid sunburn last week, I purchased a hat from a vendor outside the Jokhang, for about $3.25, so now, I can keep the sun off my face and head, and look like a cowgirl.

I would like to take this opportunity now to share the wonderful feelings I had when I discovered that since I was in China two years ago, they have discovered hair conditioner and have their own version of Windex. While we take these things for granted in the States, imagine for a moment attempting to clean a rather dirty apartment with hot water and...a rag, and then, running out of conditioner, but, oh no!, the store no longer carries any--what do you do? Lucky for my family they have started selling it here, although it is rather expensive.

Despite the lack of altitude sickness, it has been rather tough adjusting to the climate. It is soooo dry. Seriously, the humidity must be 0% every day. It's hard on the sinuses and the lips, elbows, knees, etc. I think I've gone through half a stick of chapstick in the week and a half since I arrived.

Some of the good things are that there is a thug-pa (Tibetan noodle soup) restaurant across the street with pretty good thug-pa for 2 yuan, or $.25. It is pretty darn tasty. No vegetables, other than green onion, in it though, just noodles and yak. But, it is still good.

If any vegetarians ever happen to be in Lhasa, there are a couple of places we have found with good food. I've heard there are two vegan restaurants, but I'm not sure how "vegan" is defined here. At one of the two restaurants, Doris and I met a very nice Tibetan man, visiting Lhasa, who took it upon himself to walk with us, in part to protect us from not-nice men. He didn't speak English, but got some free lessons. During our walkabout, he took us to a little tea house to drink Tibetan sweet tea, or cha-ngar-mo. I think it is fairly safe to say that Doris and I were the first westerners to drink tea in this place. She and I were sitting against one wall, facing into the room, while our host sat facing us. Shortly after we began drinking out sweet tea, made with sheep milk, Doris had to excuse herself to visit the restroom, such as it was. Our host went with her--why, I'm not sure, but that left me alone facing a room full of mostly elderly Tibetans, who were all staring, of course. I took a few sips of tea, smiling at people while they stared. Then, I said "Tashi Delek" (Hello) to everyone in the room. Well, that was a big hit. Everyone started laughing, and next thing I know, a couple across the room had brought me a small round of dry bread, which they insisted I dip into my tea before eating (this, I discovered was necessary, because otherwise, there was no way to swallow the bread). Then, finally, Doris and our host re-entered and someone else gave us more bread to eat with our tea. So, what started out as an uncomfortable experience for me turned into a rather fun one.

Another thing I would like to note is the way family dynamics seem to work here. It is wonderful to see parents taking so much interest in their children. It is not uncommon to see several children playing in the street in front of the small shops, but they are being supervised, not only by their own parents, but by others as well. Many parents seem to walk their children to school, home from school, help with homework, and give lots of hugs as well as discipline. Children definitely seem to be safe here, as does everyone, except when there are pickpockets around. I personally have not encountered one, but one of the other girls here had her camera stolen the second day she was here. I think the trick is to not go out alone in crowded areas.

So, not only have I been learning a great deal about Tibetans (who I definitely think are have a better sense of humor than many Chinese I have met), but I have also been learning quite a bit about myself as well.

Unless something terribly exciting happens, my next entry will probably be next week sometime, after classes have started again, and I have more to say about them.

Golden Week = Catch up time remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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My last entry was in Beijing. I has a wonderful stay at the hostel. The folks there were very helpful. I made my flight to Lhasa, and met a wonderful young woman from Switzerland, also studying here. We shared a taxi from the airport. It was so amazingly beautiful. Unfortunately, my camera was packed tightly into my backpack and I was too tired to pull it out, but believe me when I say that I don't think I had ever seen anything as beautiful. The mountains were so close and the clouds touched them. The sky was unbelieveably blue and clear. On the way from the airport (a 50 minute drive, unless you have the driver we had), there were yaks on the road and prayer flags sticking up from poles in the water and covering one of the bridges we passed.

Once at the university, Doris and I were shown to our rooms, large for one person, but the bathrooms leave something to be desired, although I shouldn't complain too much. At least they have bathrooms.

Lucky for me, I haven't had any trouble with the altitude. One woman here from Japan, who came with her American boyfriend, has had terrible altitude sickness, and actually went to the hospital twice. She has been here about a week and is still on oxygen, and until sometime last night, they were planning to leave. But, she is getting better.

So, the first night here, Doris, who has been here before, and I went on walkabout. We made it to the Barkhor, and joined the throng walking clockwise. One difference I have noticed here is that the Tibetans are more likely to say "Hello" than the Chinese generally are.

I'm going to pause here, return Doris' cable, and continue as soon as I can.

I Finally Made It! remains copyright of the author michab3, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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