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Date:
June 6, 2003
Currently, I am in Thailand recovering my health. Arriving was another
shock to my system. I went from an altitude of 4000 meters to 10
meters, and from a desert with 9 percent humidity to the start of the
monsoons and 90 percent humidity, and from freezing temperatures to an
average of 30 degree Celsius. The first few days I was dizzy on oxygen.
It has been a few weeks, long enough to put Tibet in perspective. It is
no secret that I wasn't enjoying myself in the harsh conditions and
being triply sick; but in retrospect, and in comparison to Thailand's
absorption of the West, Tibet was an extraordinary and unique
experience.
The Chinese, who run Tibet, require everyone to hire a guide. In our
case, we had to hire a truck to carry the guide and the gear. We also
had to jump through hoops and battle Chinese paper tigers to get the
visas and sensitive area permits and military permits and hire a tour
agency. In the end, they were all too happy to take my money, the
almighty dollar, blood money from the subjugation of Third World
countries everywhere. So Iêm told. We were the only bicyclist to
travel west this year. And, because the Chinese restricted travel due
to the SARS epidemic, by the end of my stay I was one of only 35
tourists in all of Tibet. So few tourists provided for an unspoiled
view of the culture.
Tibet is like two countries in one. The Chinese cities and the Tibetan
villages. In 1950, China, for various and obscure reasons such as
Tibet, along with China, used to be part of the Mongol Empire, took
control of Tibet. The real reason, I suspect, either involved building
the Chinese version of the Iron Curtain or, of course, money. The
Chinese call it the Great Liberation but the only thing they liberated
were 1.2 million Tibet souls. Then the Chinese began their
socialization and cultural cleansing of Tibet. This including
destroying thousands of monks and monasteries because China believed
"religion to be an opium for the masses." In recent years, due to
international pressure China has ceased most of its aggression but have
devised an even more insidious plan, The Han Immigration Policy. This
policy, through economic incentives, encourages Chinese to move to
Tibet in the hopes they will out number and out breed the Tibetans.
Politically, economically, militarily, the Tibetans are excluded and
their culture extinguished. It is illegal for tourists to bring
pictures of the Dalai Lama to Tibet and rumor has it that there are
undercover monks lurking in the monasteries keeping an eye on
subversive foreigners. The Chinese are so dastardly there is even a
word for their dirty business, "sinicize," meaning, "to modify by
Chinese influence."
It is a sad story but it makes for a fascinating contrast. It seemed to
me that the Chinese dominated economically and the Tibetans were
relegated to farmers and servants to the Chinese machine. Still, the
Tibetans have an indomitable spirit, bred from the harsh climate, and
it is a marvel to see them still laugh, sing and dance. For instance,
one monk was having the time of his life losing all his money in card
game. His karma caught up to him because earlier he made me get off the
rock in front of my tent (we were camped in the monastery) to burn a
pile of dung where I was sitting. I was dumbfounded to be displaced by
a pile of crap since there were plenty of other rocks. "An offering to
God," he pantomimed with a smile; but clearly he was having a laugh at
my expense.
One strange thing about the Tibetans is that half of them have a fossil
of a nautilus shell in their pocket ready to sell to any tourist that
happens along.
And, the strangest thing about Tibet is that the most popular beer is
Pabst Blue Ribbon. Everywhere, even on the slopes of Everest, cans of
Pabst lay alongside the road labeled, "Established in Milwaukee in
1849".
"I'm from Milwaukee," I'd tell the locals. They'd stare at me
perplexed. "You, Tibet," Iêd say pointing at them, "Me, Milwaukee,"
pointing to the word on the can. I went through this routine many times
but never successfully conveyed my point. I can almost hear their
thoughts, "He thinks heês a can of beer."
Well, time is too short to convey my experiences of: drinking yak
butter tea and eating yak noodle soup; visiting a barley mill powered
by a river and talking to the powder white old men; or, lunching with
the farmers as they rested from plowing the fields; or, soaking my feet
in a hot spring; or, prowling the karaoke bars and pool halls; or,
riding down roads that vibrated the pants off me; or, my encounters
with the fun-loving highway bandits, sitting with the monks as they
chantedÄ. Even if I did have time to tell these things or talent to
describe them, you should just go see, smell, hear, feel and taste for
yourself.
Scott
Adventurer and Gentleman
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