Train to Tibet

 

We’ve arrived in Lhasa, capital city of Tibet! During the 25-hour train ride, we saw some spectacular scenery. It’s almost impossible to imagine that this entire Tibetan plateau, the size of Western Europe, was once under the sea – and now it is the roof of the world. What kind of geological force does that take?

Before the railroad was completed in 2006, connecting Tibet to the Chinese rail network, it took much longer than 25 hours to get here overland by bus or truck. Last time Paul and I came, in 1987, we flew from Hong Kong to Chengdu to Lhasa; the shock of going from sealevel to 10,000 feet above sealevel gave us both altitude sickness. This time, we came by train. You might think that is a gradual ascent, but actually, the train goes up from 6600 feet at Xining to more than 15,000 feet at the highest point, Tanggula Pass, before dropping back to down to about 10,000 feet at Lhasa, which lies in a valley. The train takes care of its passengers by blasting oxygen into each cabin during the entire journey, so we didn’t feel any effects till we got to Lhasa. (And even that is just a slight headache.)

We had a “soft sleeper” cabin on the train – four people to a cabin. So the twelve of us in our group had three cabins. I slept in the upper bunk and could see out the window from there, a bit. Mostly we sat on the lower bunks, looking at the scenery and taking a jillion photos. The aisle ran along the windows on the left side of the train, and we could stand there and take photos, too. On one end of our car were three sinks and a sit-down toilet, which remained relatively clean throughout the journey. We had one attendant assigned to our car. We ate our meals in the dining car, all Chinese food but not great quality. There were 15 Germans in the next car, and some people who may have been from Hong Kong. Everyone else was Han Chinese or Tibetan.

The first day on the train, we went straight west, past Qinghai Lake on its northern rim. The lake goes on forever, and made for some fabulous photos. After that, the scenery was what I would call badlands: craggy, barren brown mountains and uneven plains covered mostly with rocks and inedible clumps of camel grass. The relatively flat lands had just enough edible grass that we saw occasional herds of sheep and yaks, with a Tibetan tent and a few horses and motorcycles. But we did not see a lot of herds till we crossed the border into the Tibet Autonomous Region, which seems to have better pastureland. More than half our journey was in Qinghai, which is on the Tibet-Qinghai plateau, one of the most inhospitable places in the world.

When we woke up in the morning, around 7 a.m., we were passing through Tanggula Pass, the border between Qinghai (Amdo) and Tibetan Autonomous Region. I had expected a steep pass between two cliffs, but instead it was just a wide plain that went up and up and then gradually, imperceptibly, began to tilt down. Paul saw some rare Tibetan antelopes.

This is the area of permafrost, though it was hard to recognize in mid-summer. The surface is melted and soggy green, mossy looking. We could see some metal contraptions alongside the railroad track, high-tech methods to keep the permafrost below the surface from melting under the tracks. A number of small rivers flowed through this area, and at least one had a thick chunk of ice on it, red from the clay beneath it.

The scenery was still relatively barren – not a tree in sight – but the flatlands were grassier, and the herds of sheep and yaks were bigger. The nomads live in tents that are much smaller than Mongolian gers (yurts), and occasionally we saw small villages of Tibetan style houses built of stone covered with clay and whitewashed. Each house had several poles at the corners with prayer flags, as well as small stone pens for animals they wanted to keep close.

We passed a lovely large lake called Tso-na Lake, one quarter the size of Qinghai. It is home to a type of black-necked crane, and we saw several. It was stunningly beautiful, with blue-green water surrounded by brown-green mountains. Many nomadic herders used the pastures around this lake.

Friendly nun

After lunch, Paul and I were chatting with some of the other tour members in their cabin when a young Tibetan nun smiled at us. Paul invited her into the cabin, and she came in and talked to us. It was a lovely experience. She is 23, with very short-cropped hair, wearing maroon robes but open in the front to show a white shirt and a Buddhist necklace. She had a small, delicate face and beautiful dark eyes, very expressive, as well as a soft, gentle voice. She spoke to us in Mandarin, with a thick Tibetan accent. She told us she became a nun at the age of 11, of her own choice, and studies scripture five hours a day. She lives at the Jiegu Monastery in Yushu. THAT got our attention. Yushu is where the terrible earthquake happened in April. She said 28 of the 300 nuns at her monastery died. At the time, she was at home, visiting her family, as she does once a month. She woke up early and felt something was not right, so she began to study the sutras. Then the earth began to shake and the ceiling fell in. No one in her family was killed, but she had to dig through the rubble to save her mother, father, and sister, who were then flown to Chengdu to treat their injuries. At her 16-year-old brother’s high school, 300 students were killed. After the earthquake, many important people came to Yushu to visit, including national leaders Hu Jintao and Wen Jiabao, as well as the Panchen Lama. She said she saw them, and was moved to tears to see the young Panchen Lama, who is second in importance to the Dalai Lama. She took photos on her cell phone, but her cell phone had just been stolen on this train ride. She showed us some photos of her monastery and nun friends, and she chanted the sutras for us from her hand-written Tibetan notes. Her voice was sweet and bell-like. I was very taken by her and felt lucky to have such an in-depth conversation with a Tibetan.

The Lhasa Valley, approached by train, is very narrow, but clearly rich agricultural land, the first we saw. It reminded me of Afghanistan: steep, craggy, barren brown mountains rising from a brilliant green valley covered in crops, mostly barley and the yellow flowers of you-cai, rapeseed. Many more settled villages lined the valley – farming families. As we approached Lhasa, we saw several factories, including a cement factory and the staging area for the building of the railroad.

Our hotel is a new one, called the Xin Ding Hotel. It is five-star and had a terrific dinner buffet. The best part is this: our room has a terrific view of the Potala Palace. Unbelievable. We just took a photo through our window. I’ve never stayed in a hotel room with a view like that. We will visit the Potala Palace tomorrow.

Oh, boy. We’re really here!

Qinghai Lake: Of yaks and kids and prayer flags

 

China’s biggest lake is Qinghai Lake, a saltwater lake bigger than four Hong Kongs put together. The name means Green Sea in Chinese (Qinghai) and Blue Sea in Mongolian (Kokonor.) In Tibetan its name is Tso-Ngon; I didn’t ask what it means.

It takes about two hours to drive to Qinghai Lake from the city. The drive takes you along the Huangshui (Royal River) valley, upstream from Xining. For the first half of the drive, the surrounding areas are agricultural, and the villages are Chinese. Then the road goes up over a small pass, called Sun Moon Mountain, and on the other side, the land is pastureland for Tibetan herders.

Sun Moon Mountain was historically the border between China and Tibet, at least in the 7^th century when China and Tibet signed a treaty of friendship and non-aggression. As part of the deal, the Chinese emperor sent one of his daughters, Princess Wen Cheng, to marry the King of Tibet. This is a famous story, known by all Chinese and Tibetans. Wen Cheng brought agricultural methods, silk painting, tea-drinking, and Buddhism to Tibet. Tibet had been exposed to Buddhism some centuries before, but it did not stick. After Wen Cheng, Buddhism took hold very strongly in Tibet, taking on characteristics from India, China, and the original Tibetan religion, called Bon.

It is said that when Wen Cheng reached the border of Tibet, at Sun Moon Mountain, she cried so much her tears formed a lake, so sad was she at leaving home. Anyway, we stopped and took photos at Sun Moon Mountain. Today, many Tibetan entrepreneurs sell jewelry, clothing, knives, and prayer wheels there. Also, if you pay ten yuan ($1.60), you can take your photo on the back of a yak. (Yaks are long-haired cow-like creatures, which the Tibetans rely on for food and wool and milk and butter.)

You can also pay to take your photo with a kid. They’re less unique but cuter than yaks. I also bought a prayer wheel. When you spin it, it says prayers for you.

The Chinese have somehow resisted the urge to develop massive hotels and tourboats at Qinghai Lake. Although there is an abandoned torpedo base in the middle, it is otherwise left in its pristine state, a huge saltwater lake that attracts many birds each April-May.

We saw some Tibetans there celebrating something with what looked like a Maypole with flags. Actually, the flags are what we usually call prayer flags; but the Chinese call them “sutra sails.” They have Buddhist scripture written on them, and as they flap in the wind, the sutras get “read.”

We took lots of photos at the lake, including our version of the Titanic pose.

I also paid to wear a Tibetan costume for a photo.

We saw several yaks.

There were also some Tibetan mastiffs (fierce dogs) for sale. This one reminded me of Trish’s Murphy. Kind of sad, no?

Xining, Qinghai: First taste of Tibet

 

The Chinese province of Qinghai (pronounced Ching-high) is like an introduction to Tibet. It’s a high mountainous plateau region, just north of the Tibet Autonomous Region, and most of Qinghai is inhabited by Tibetans. Only the provincial capital, Xining (pronounced Shee-ning) and surrounding valley have a lot of Han Chinese inhabitants. The city of Xining’s population, we were told, is 60 percent Han Chinese; the rest are Tibetans, Chinese Muslims (Hui), and other minorities, such as Mongolian, Tu, and Sala.

Outside of the city of Xining and the valleys around it, most of the province feels like Tibet. In fact, Tibetans have long called it not Qinghai but their province of Amdo. The present Dalai Lama was born in a village in Amdo, not far from Xining. One of the biggest issues between Chinese and Tibetans is the fact that many areas traditionally considered part of Tibet are not in the “Tibetan Autonomous Region” as defined by the government of China.

The northern Tibetan province of Amdo has been renamed Qinghai. The eastern Tibetan province of Kham is divided between the Chinese provinces of Sichuan and Yunnan, even though these counties are still almost entirely inhabited by Tibetans. The Dalai Lama insists he is not asking for independence for Tibet, just true autonomy under the Chinese government. However, he wants Tibet to include these northern and eastern provinces that were carved off and given to Chinese provinces. If these areas were included in Tibet, Tibet would account for one-sixth of Chinese territory – too big a chunk of land for the Chinese government to allow to be truly autonomous.

Xining’s elevation 2200 meters, or about 6600 feet – high but nowhere near as high as Lhasa. One reason we came here first is to get used to a higher altitude. So far, no problem! Although I did have a bit of a headache after sleeping on the 22^nd floor of the Qinghai Hotel. A few days ago I started taking Diamox, the prescription medicine recommended by American doctors to prevent altitude sickness. Paul is taking Hong-jing-tian, the Chinese herbal medicine used here. We’ll see which one works better!

Few foreigners visit Qinghai, but there are two fabulous sites to see. One is the Kumbum Monastery, one of the most sacred to Tibetans. It is less than 30 minutes drive from Xining, and it was built as a Tibetan Buddhist monastery 600 years ago, to honor Tsongkapa, the founder of the Gelugpa or Yellow Hat Sect. The present Dalai Lama’s brother was a prominent monk at Kumbum, and he himself was taken there for several years right after he was chosen as the latest incarnation of the Dalai Lama. In those days, the 1930s, Qinghai was controlled by a Chinese Muslim warlord, Ma Bufang. Once Ma got word that the new infant Dalai Lama had been found, he demanded a lot of money before he would let the boy go to Lhasa.

History aside, Kumbum is a fascinating temple and monastery complex, spread out along the side of a hill. It is called Ta-er-si in Chinese. The most famous temple has a golden roof.

Near the entrance are eight round white Tibetan-style towers, called chortens. Nearly 800 Tibetan monks are in training here, some as boys, most as men. It is clearly a living, working monastery – not just a tourist site, although visitors are allowed in many parts. The monks wear maroon robes.

Five years ago, when I visited this monastery, it was jam-packed with tourists, mostly Buddhists from other Asian countries, such as Korea and Thailand. Now, most tourists are from other parts of China, but it was far less crowded. No photos are allowed inside the temples, and this rule is strictly enforced. The insides smell of yak butter candles, and you can see row up row of cushions where the monks study. Columns are lovingly wrapped in carpets, and colorful flags hang from the ceilings. Statues of Buddhas and other Buddhist teachers are adorned with white silk scarves and other gifts.

Tibetans can enter the temple grounds for free, and many come here to worship. We saw many of them prostrating themselves before the temple entrances, and I took a photo of one such worshiper, surreptitiously. Our guide told us they pray in thanks for blessings. Some come to do as many as 100,000 prostrations. They use rosary beads to keep track of how many prostrations they have made so far.

Tibetan temples are famous for their prayer wheels, which, when turned clockwise, send off prayers.

Many of the signs were bilingual, in Chinese and Tibetan, which has a charming curly-cue script based on Sanskrit.

Canton Memories

 

Yesterday, Paul and I arrived in Guangzhou, better known in the West as Canton. This city is full of nostalgia for us. Shortly after Paul and I fell in love in Hong Kong, he got a job here with Esso China, and we spent many happy days and nights at the White Swan Hotel and Esso Tower, overlooking the Pearl River. That was back in 1984, when we were young(er!). We haven’t revisited this city since 1991, so all our memories of this place are from the 1980s.

Guangzhou does not seem to have changed much since the 1980s. For over 100 years, Canton was China’s connection to the West. The big British and American trading firms set up offices and warehouses here, in European-style buildings on Shamian Island, in the 1920s and earlier. After the Communist victory in 1949, the Westerners were kicked out, but China held a “Canton Trade Fair” once or twice a year, letting foreigners come in to sign deals for import and export of goods. When China started opening to the West in the 1980s, a few modern hotels were built, including the White Swan Hotel on Shamian Island.

Paul was part of the first wave of foreign companies returning to China in the 1980s. He worked for Exxon when it was exploring for oil in the South China Sea. His job was to do liaison with Chinese government officials. Those were exciting days, for Paul and me and everyone associated with the opening of China. Every week brought a new adventure. Paul took a helicopter to an offshore oil rig, negotiated with the Chinese about Vietnamese boat people who tied up to Exxon’s rig, translated for the chairman of Exxon, then the biggest company in the world, moved to Beijing to get to know national officials, and even traveled with a group of oil executives to China’s far west, including Kashgar, close to the border with Afghanistan. In those days, I was traveling all over China, interviewing officials, visiting farms and factories, profiling entrepreneurs and covering such amazing changes in China as the opening of a stock exchange in a Communist country.

For old times’ sake, we went to the White Swan Hotel for dinner. The minute we walked through the door, I felt a wave of nostalgia for those days, the 1980s, when we were young and in love and our careers were full of adventure. The White Swan Hotel looks the same – just as luxurious and beautiful as it did in the old days, with a high atrium in the center, a waterfall tumbling down from a Chinese pavilion into a lovely fish pool. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one side show impressive views of the Pearl River, which seems prettier than in the old days, with lighted tour boats cruising after dark. We ate a dinner of eels and bamboo hearts at the hotel’s Szechuan restaurant, our old favorite, and a young woman played delightful music on the guzheng, the Chinese zither. Memories of the 1980s flooded back to us – people we knew, places we visited, things that happened. After dinner, we walked along the streets of Shamian Island, where they are renovating some of the graceful old European-style buildings.

We are staying at the Dongfang Hotel – another place that brings back memories. This was the first hotel built for foreigners, across from the Canton Trade Fair site. It was crumbling under poor Chinese management during the 1980s, and friends of ours, from the U.S. consulate, who had to live here full time, told us they found rats in the sofas! Today, the hotel has gleaming marble lobbies, ultra-modern bathrooms, and a beautiful outdoor square with a flowing swimming pool, fish ponds, waterfalls, walkways, pavilions, and café tables.

The rest of Guangzhou, though, seems frozen where it was in the 1980s. Crammed with traffic, aging and narrow elevated highways, dirt-crusted buildings. In recent years, it seems, the money has flowed into Shanghai, instead. Guangzhou is no longer China’s window on the West, just a regional capital, albeit a region with a lot of factories producing for the U.S. market. We see very few white faces here, compared to Shanghai. We flew here on a jam-packed 777, configured with ten seats abreast and no leg room, every seat taken, and I saw only one other Western/white face on the plane.

Tropical – that’s the feel here. Palm trees and azaleas and other tropical greenery contrast sharply with Shanghai and Beijing. Every afternoon there is a thunder shower.

Dim sum – that’s the taste here! We went out for dim sum on Day Two.

Shanghai: Sights and tastes

 

The Bund, Shanghai’s most famous site, is a riverfront walkway with the best views of Old and New Shanghai. From it, you can see the European-style buildings dating from the 1920s and 1930s lining the West Bank, as well as the distinctive skyscrapers across the Huangpu River in the newly developed area along the East Bank, called Pudong. We visited it in the thick mist/smog, so the views were not the best. But at least we got to walk along this beautiful walkway, which was closed for renovation when Emily came here in February.

Shanghai’s subway is so modern and easy to use it puts New York to shame. A recently completed line connects both of Shanghai’s airports to each other and to the center of the city, People’s Square.

On Saturday, Ms Hu Wenjing drove us, in her sister’s Chevrolet, to Chongming Island, north of the city. Last year, the Chinese completed an impressive tunnel-and-bridge connecting Chongming to the city. The tunnel, which goes under the mouth of the Yangtze River, is nine kilometers long, and goes to another small island. The bridge, ten kilometers long, connects that island to Chongming Island – a suspension bridge soaring high above the river in a sight that is awe-inspiring even in the smog.

 

 

Chongming Island is mostly farmland, very green, with modern smooth highways. Ms. Hu took us to Dongping Forest, a parkland of trees planted as early as 1958, now used as a playground for Shanghai citizens eager to get some fresh air and greenery as an escape from crowded, concrete city life. They call it “Shanghai’s oxygen.”

After touring the park, we had lunch at a village home. Local villagers attract visitors from Shanghai with genuine village bed-and-breakfast experiences. We had fresh fish and local vegetables at the home of a farmer named Chen.

We’ve had some terrific food here in Shanghai. The most famous local dish is a steamed meat dumpling, tender and delicious, served in bamboo steamers. They also have soft, fluffy buns, fresh fish in sweet sauce, shrimp in tea leaves, a veggie called water bamboo, and pork chunks. Paul’s favorite restaurant is Din Tai Fung, a dumpling place in the fashionable night spot of Xintiandi, a walkway lined with sidewalk cafes and upscale shops.

We’ve also enjoyed a Chinese foot massage – which feels so good it’s almost impossible to describe! Especially after walking all over Expo.

Tomorrow we will have lunch with a Shanghainese novelist. I hope to ask her about possible publishers for Daughter of Xanadu!