July 31

Tomorrow I leave for the Shangri-la Hotel, where my dear friend Brian got his Auntie Celedra a discounted room.

The rain is pouring down again here in the middle of monsoon season and I realize that I’m getting a bit tired of the combination of rain and dirt alleys that turn into big, slick mud puddles that are filled with rotting vegetables and all kinds of things I don’t want to think about. Every night I’ve watched one of the many DVD’s I purchased about the Cultural Revolution and the Tibetan refugees – little children that get frostbite on their little feet from walking for days through the icy mountain trails on their way to safety here in Nepal.

So, I stop my complaining, get my computer bag securely strapped around me and take off to the stupa and to my Internet café. Oh, it is so slowww! And, for some reason, I’m not getting all my e-mails. But, I see one – it is from the Shangri-la, dated yesterday and says that will see me tomorrow. That would be today! Suddenly, I realize that today is the 31st and the day I check into the Shangri-la. I cannot believe the joy and excitement I feel and virtually skip over the puddles as I hurry my way back to the monastery to pack my bags.

The one thing I still haven’t had in a month is a HOT shower! I’ve had a ‘not very cold’ shower, but never warm and certainly not hot. I can hardly contain myself and surprise myself with this level of absolute giddiness. I say good-by to my little place that felt so luxurious just a week ago, bow to the dear Lama who is there by my taxi and so eagerly await my ‘real’ hotel!

Yes! They greet me with a delicious mango cocktail with a splash of rum and walk me to my lovely 4th floor room overlooking one of the most beautiful gardens in Kathmandu. There is a plate of cookies from their bakery and a basket of fruit. And a big bathtub! I am delirious!

And, not only has it stopped raining, there is actually some blue sky above. Oh, it is Shangri-la!

The girl at the front desk tries to get the wifi going and I take off for Thamel district, just a 30-minute walk away. Today, I will find Akka Lama, whose name I received from Jeff’s brother Ron. Finally, I find his Thanka shop, but he is busy, so I tell his brother I will walk around a bit and come back.

Now, are you r ready for this!!!

As I’m strolling down the busy Thamel streets, I see a Tibetan bookstore, and remember that I am looking for a book – Blazing Slender. So many wonderful books here, it’s hard to leave. I make my purchase and slowly head back to the Thanka store.

Suddenly, a monk comes up next to me and looks right at me and says “Tashi Delek”. For a moment I wonder how he knows that I know this greeting. He stops me and, (oh my gosh! A monkey just crossed my window!) with this huge smile on his face starts talking about Nangchen. I am trying to understand him and finally realize that he saw me in the monastery I visited in Nangchen and he is so excited. He says I don’t remember him because he had on more robes and that he is a Khenpo. He says he remembers my hair and points to his own shaved head. He bows with me over and over and we make our way down the bustling street to a little restaurant for tea. He knows all of the Rinpoche’s that I’ve been with in Tibet and tells me he will be in Crestone, Co September 25th and we must meet there. He says he has just been praying for help to get the bus to Lhasa to see his mother, who he hasn’t seen in years, and then he saw me there on the street and that I am his guardian, his Green Tara. He needs 30,000 Rs. I give him the 12,000 that I have with me and wish I had more. Maybe I’m not his Green Tara after all. But he is so grateful – says he will pray for my children and grandchildren and call me in the United States. We go on and on about the auspiciousness of this meeting with many “Om Mani Padma Hungs” and many, many touching of heads. He takes the red string off of his neck and puts in on me, telling me it is from the Dalai Lama, and gives me a picture of the Dalai Lama. He is a fountain of prayers and blessings and smiles and great joy! I am just a bit overwhelmed with this serendipitous meeting and we both cry a bit. Finally, we leave each other with a big hug and many more touching of foreheads! Oh, I feel so blessed!



I meet Akka Lama, drink tea and wonder why I’m here. Then I find out. His wife has a small factory that employs Tibetan women in the making of Dharma articles. She will make whatever I want. He tells me that they make real prayer flags - prayer flags that have legible prayers on them, not the ones mass-produced by the Chinese. He talks about her intention of preserving the true Tibetan dharma as well as her intention to help Tibetan women who are in need. Oh, this is the perfect last piece of my trip.

We make plans for tomorrow. We will go to her factory and I will take pictures. I tell him about my intention to bring in more of the awakened feminine aspect to our culture and he understands.

The last stop before home is to my favorite Third Eye Restaurant where I ate last week. As I’m asking someone outside directions, two well-groomed young men dressed in maroon shirts tell me that they work there and they will walk with me. It is dark and the lights of Thamel make it look festive. My old waiter remembers me and even remembers that I had a glass of white wine and finds me a seat in the back room. The tables here are low and you sit crossed legged. There is an altar against the wall with candles and the music is gently wafting through the air. I bring out my new book to read by candlelight, but we get into a wonderful discussion about casts and Mongolians and Christians. Dinner is again delicious, interrupted only by the Korean and Chinese couple who ask me to take a picture of them. Good-by CC my new friend calls as I jump into a rickshaw and head for my new home.

July 30th

At 11:30 sharp, exactly one hour late, dear Ram knocks on my door, dripping wet slicker on and fogged up helmet in hand. He suggests that I take a taxi since I don’t have a slicker, but I refuse to let the monsoons keep me from the first motorcycle ride I’ve been offered since I was a junior in high school when both of my parents were so nervous that they waited there for me on the street in front of my house until I safely returned on the back of some cute boy’s motorcycle.

With no helmet, pouring rain and this crazy traffic, I’m sure they would have adamantly refused my current escapade. I pulled the hood of my trusty green jacket over my head, nestled my AAA travel bag between myself and Ram and held on as we weaved in and out of scooters, cars, people and puddles. I just had to stop looking as he skillfully weaved the bike between two moving objects over and over again that I was sure we couldn’t fit through.

About 30 minutes into our ride to Patan, he turns around and asks if I’d like to stop at his home to have lunch with his family. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I give an enthusiastic “yes”! How fun!

His wife serves a huge lunch of chicken, rice, soup, some kind of beans and potatoes. It is delicious. The best part of this trip has been the many times I’ve been received into people’s homes. There is something so intimate about entering a home and being taken in to, not only this person’s inner life, but the life of their culture and, in this case, their caste.

Ram rents out part of his home downstairs to this beautiful woman!




With my tummy and my heart very full, we took off for Patan, where Ram introduces me to his friend at the statue store. Patan is the town where most of the statues are made. It is filled with the sound of metal workers and storefronts exhibiting their shiny rows of deities.

Ram takes off for his shop in Thamel and I spend the next 5 or 6 hours learning about the making and quality differences of statues. So many wonderful people I meet, many who take me up dark little stairways to their shops, or to back rooms filled with extraordinary one of a kind masterpieces. I am served the sweet, creamy Nepali tea over and over again, always welcomed on the rainy, grey day. Finally, it is getting too challenging trying to constantly traverse the slick, muddy alley roads and I head toward the taxis with my packages in tow and all my new friend’s e-mail addresses safely written down in my little black book.

I love the Newari people. This is Hem who introduced me to Ratna Tara, who I’d never heard of. This is her on the left.


These beautiful women helped me buy things for the children.


The big Buddha eyes of Boudhanath stupa greet me as I enter the main gate, circumambulating a few time before I head for my 10 minute walk through the water drenched alleys to the monastery.

I stop to give the heavy prayer wheel a few turns and walk past the garden tables that are shining with the flickering of candlelight and remember that tonight in Monday and the electricity is off.

July 23rd

Lordy, more cars, rickshaws, scooters, people and vendors are converged on each street corner together than one could imagine. It seems that even a slip of paper couldn’t fit between some of these vehicles and/or people. And everyone honks! I hire a rickshaw after a couple of hours, just to see if I can find that little store, but to no avail. Finally, it is all too much and I hail a taxi. OK, not really hail. Actually, there are about 15 just waiting for someone to jump in. The driver has three long red fingernails, which reminds me of an interesting PBS special I’d seen a number of years ago about Indian men. He says I should go to Bhaktapur tomorrow where it is quiet and there is no pollution. “How much”? I ask, having already been taken once. “1000 Rs”. When I get back to my sweet place, I ask Tashi (yes, a different Tashi) about the price. He looks surprised and asks where did I find such an honest taxi driver?

Another delicious dinner for 150 Rs – about $2.00 or so and back to my room where the electricity goes off again at 6 pm for about 2 hours. I light a couple of candles and get out my trusty headlamp. Turns out that the electricity is off every Sunday and Monday night from 6 – 8 pm. Rather nice actually!

July 23rd

After a long time, I walk down the 300 steps, filled with the sounds and smells and energy of Kathmandu. It is good preparation for what lays ahead.

Themal – they describe it as a great bargain shopping place. The real reason I wanted to go there was that, on the way to Swayambunath in the taxi, I thought I’d seen a yarn store. So, I had a taxi take me to the area. He drops me off at Hanuman Square and it is filled with color! And temples!

July 23rd

Again, I seem to be the only American. Children and women grab me asking for money. Finally, I figure out a way to deal these innumerable pleadings – I speak in a different language. They walk away and now I can give money to whomever I choose. One of the problems is that I am here off-season, so there are fewer tourists to choose from. The place is crowded with Indian people praying and chanting and I feel that I have entered their sacred world.

This is also called the monkey temple:

July 23rd

Oh, it is lovely here. I slept like a baby and woke up with this amazing feeling of spaciousness – nothing to do!

Took my time to drink my protein powder, herbs, Emergen-C, powdered wheat grass, liquid vitamins and, of course, my new bio-identical hormones. I am so grateful that I have felt so good and healthy on this trip except, of course, for all the bloating from the massive amounts of salt! At one point, in Xining my face actually started changing into a distorted roundish configuration that I barely recognized. Jeffrey and I would compare our swollen feet when we had a moment to spare.

Had a late breakfast of grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, toast and butter in the garden. So yummy!

Off to Swayambunath, Nepal’s most important Buddhist shrine and the place of the familiar all-seeing Buddha eyes that are so familiar and representative of Nepal. I catch a taxi outside of the stupa gate and now know enough to find out ahead of time a reasonable price. We haggle over 20 Rs and off we go. We arrive at the stupa after a long and vicious ride down crowded alleys and I happily give him the 20 Rupees we haggled over. I climb the 300 or so steps to the top and am overwhelmed with this amazing place.

Yes, I still have a ways to go!

July 22nd

I roam the alleys for a bit, orienting myself to this new place and head back to my sweet place for an early dinner.  In my room, soon after dinner, the electricity goes off and candlelight is everywhere as I look out my window.  I light my own candle, find my trusty headlamp and curl up with my book about the history of the nuns of Tibet. 
 
Life is good.

July 22nd

Then there is the stupa. The drone of a million mantras fill the air as hundreds of people walk round and round, their prayer beads passing their fingers one by one with the same steadfast determination that is in their steps. This is no leisurely stroll they are taking. There are old men and women, hunched over from years of heavy burden on their backs and children that seemed to have learned early the importance of this practice.

July 22nd—Sunday

It’s a strange thing to be traveling around this very different part of the world by myself, negotiating airports, hotel rooms and maps (which I’m usually not very good with). Turning 60 seems to have opened the door to previously untold adventures that, truly, I never thought I wanted! What I thought I wanted was Paris, outdoor cafes, fine wines, creamy and rich cheeses, vineyards, museums and a quaint apartment on some romantic street. We were all going to go the Loire Valley for heaven’s sakes.

But here I am feeling like I’m in the lap of luxury because I have a real toilet and my very own shower and clean vegetarian food 15 steps away. I still feel dirty – like the dust and dirt are in my bones and deep in my skin. I asked the lovely Nepalese woman on the plane this morning if women in Nepal got pedicures. She assured me that they did. And I hear there is a spa somewhere in town. I want to be steamed cleaned!

Right off the bat, I got scammed by the taxi driver – 1000 Rs to get here. Oh well, it’s only about $20 dollars or so. Stopped at a travel agent to try to delay my departure, but no luck, not unless I want to spend another $1800.00. So, I have 10 days here and it’s just enough.

It is beautiful and peaceful here. The monastery is so close that I can hear the prayers, chantings and horn blowing of the monks throughout the day and early evening. The staff are delightful, and the food is absolutely delicious!

As I wander outside the monastery gates for the first time, I am transported into the world of the magnificent Boudhanath Stupa. The bumpy, dirt alleys that take me there are dotted with puddles of water, cows, skinny dogs, scooters and bicycles. I take note of every turn and curve to make sure I don’t get lost on the way back. I pass tiny shops with men sitting on the floor hammering out the base of some new statue, countless food and vegetable stands, textiles, prayer flags – you name it!

July 21st

I amble back to my guesthouse and feel so exhausted. I literally drop on to my bed and fall into a deep short sleep. My guidebook talks about a “Cultural Show” that starts at 7:30 tonight so I weave my way through alleys laden with vegetables and scooters and bicycles eventually finding my self on the main street. “No dinner, just the show” and they seat me at a large table filled with people. An interesting couple from the north of Italy come and sit next to me. We can barely stop talking – she is a psychologist and professor and they are writing a book about the Tibetan culture and the suppression of women in Tibetan culture, amongst other things. Tibetan politics is a constant invigorating conversation, which I can’t seem to get enough of. The whole Chinese/Tibetan thing is so fascinating.

The show is just plain stupid. It’s like being in Disney World with an obnoxiously friendly yak bumping into and hugging people. I feel like a foolish Westerner watching all of this, especially after having spent so much time with these people whose yaks are being taken away from them. Yak are like their family and it isn’t unusual to overhear them talking to their yaks they way we speak to our children or our special pets.

I walk home and go upstairs to the restaurant, finding a couple of loners to chat with. Even though it’s late, I order my last meal of yak meat – momos – dough surrounding a ball of compressed meat. Tashi called them bauzis.

Tomorrow morning, off to Kathmandu.


The view from my window!

July 21st

Although I ‘vet been told more than a few times that I cannot get into the Potela Palace, I suddenly am filled with the impulse to go there. I leave the Temple, cross the large Barkhor Square and hire a rickshaw to take me there. I love this thin man’s laughter and energy as we scoot in and out of scooters and other rickshaws. I go to the ticket entrance, which is empty except for a few people now. Arriving from the airport earlier, I saw the long 4-5 hour line winding down the sidewalk. “No”, they say. “No tickets until tomorrow. Must buy ticket one day in advance”. There is a young red haired, red bearded Scottish man standing there who speaks Chinese. I tell him to please let them know I have only today. He tries to no avail. Then I see some other people buying some other type of ticket – it is for an art showing that lets you inside the palace, but only to one room. OK, I’ll take it. At least I am inside. I follow a group of about 25 people up the seemingly endless outside stairs to the top of the palace. Then, another flight of stairs – now I see they are taking tickets. I climb up and hand them my incorrect ticket, then ask for help to get the right ticket. A nice man asks me to follow him down a few stairs, around the corner to a small, enclosed booth. He walks inside, speaks to the women, I hand them my 100 Yuen and get my precious purple ticket to the palace.

Moving from one group to the next, we wind our way down the palace floors, going from one magnificent room to another. It is very different to be here. This time there is more seeing than feeling – like being in a museum.

July 21st

Some people are prostrating, inching slowly toward the temple doors. The women have their long dresses tied around their legs at the bottom as they unerringly continue in their rhythmic practice of prostrations. I walk into this temple and am immediately taken with the palpable devotion of these people. I join in a group as a large, smiling Tibetan women hugs me into the space in front of her. The turquoise, coral and gold statues are breathtakingly beautiful and I am moved to tears. I move into another little group and find myself entering a chained off entrance into a beautiful chapel. Together, we make prostrations, place money near the statues, and touch our heads to the altars. The monks are on their hands and knees scrapping the excess butter off the cement floors, which curls into long balls that looks like some root vegetable. The reverence is profound in this temple – it is not the seeing, but the feeling. Upstairs, I ask a couple of people to take pictures of me.

July 21st

The buzz of the narrow alleys is only magnified by the tall and tattered white brick buildings that line either side. A main alley, just off my little street, encircles the Jokhang Temple and so I start out walking clockwise. Booth after booth of Tibetans selling their wares beckon to the hoards of people walking by.

July 21st—Saturday

I’m cuddled up in my Tibetan room in the middle of Barkhor Square, maybe two blocks from Jokhang Temple. Tomorrow I leave for Kathmandu.

First, I have to say that last night was pretty miserable. I arrived at Chandar around 10:30 pm with a promised person awaiting my arrival with my name in big letters. Didn’t happen! Hmm, did they write it in Chinese? I was tired, my little luggage cart was hard to steer (we’ve all had one or two of those). I ask about ten people if anyone speaks English – no one. Finally, I walk into a bookstore and Mr. Wonderful is there. Such a nice young man – he called Fiona, my travel agent in Xining. Probably woke her up. But, I’d asked her for the name of the airport hotel and she’d said “No, problem. They will be there”. Mr. Wonderful’s name is Sunny and he is awaiting his girl friend’s flight. Fiona calls back, the hotel calls Sunny, and within 10 minutes a young man is there to take me to the WOW Hotel. Wow was a huge overstatement! Anyway, it was a bed.

Early to the airport the next morning. I have a certain tension about these airports. Everything seems magnified when you are alone – and no one speaks your language. Everyone is walking that fast, self-assured pace that lets you know that they know exactly where they are going. So, I’m learning to just go up to the ticket counters until someone speaks English and directs me to the right place.

Arrived in Lhasa around 10 am this morning. Found a taxi whose Tibetan driver immediately ends up in a big fight with a female Chinese airport policewoman. Finally, we take off toward Lhasa – he is visibly shaken. I never did find out what the problem was, but she looked me straight in the eye, and then apparently told him to go ahead. I taught my new friend how to say “far”. “Far” from airport to Lhasa. The highway is lined with Chinese military police. “Many policemen”, I said. He enthusiastically agreed, “Many policemen”. Then does something with his hands to show me what I think he was saying which was – 10 policeman, 1 Tibetan. I’m pretty sure I understood correctly.

After about an hour’s drive, two wonderful people meet me on Beijing Street, take my luggage, and walk me to the Barkhor Nangchen Guest House. They certainly made up for last night’s fiasco – and so did my sweet room. They tell me I can not get into the Patella Palace since reservations need to be made one day in advance, so I should go to the Jokhang Temple for the inside and walk around the Palace for the outside.

I lay down my luggage, pick up my purse and take off. I have one day here in Lhasa and I don’t want to miss it!

Jokhang Temple

July 20th

So, today I had to say good-by to Tashi. He is so grateful to have reconnected with Rinpoche – it is full circle from the life long friendship Tashi’s father had with Rinpoche’s father. What a strange and mysterious life this is. Apparently, Rinpoche has suggested that perhaps Tashi could work for him. He joyfully exclaims how his life has suddenly become about being with all these wonderful Rinpoches and Lamas.

We hug and both try not to cry. Jeffrey told me later he saw him wiping away his tears on the way down the stairs. We all seem to be leaving each other so gently and slowly. Jeffrey leaves on Sunday – he says to me, “Well, you’re down to your last wonderful man!”

And Jeffrey is wonderful! He is going out to the plaza to go dancing with Summer tonight, the cheerful and bubbly manager of the hostel. She is a radiant Chinese girl who is planning on coming to American for college.

We take our last film segment. I cry. Holding back my tears has become a major pastime for me here. Jeffrey teases that he is going to do a montage of me crying throughout Tibet.


All of these tears springing from this deep and pressurized well of gratitude!

July 20th

The temple that we visit belonged to a much-loved Rinpoche who died in a car accident a few years ago. While he was alive, the temple thrived, filled with monks and well tended. Tashi tells us that upon his death, the government tried to take control of the temple, but that many people, including Tashi’s mother, went to the government day after day requesting that the temple be kept by the Tibetans. Although the government finally relented, the temple doors are closed and the monks must live outside in tents. Many of the statues are still intact and the surrounding area is a lovely park with Chinese music playing loudly and hundreds of people lying on blankets and drinking beer.


Jeffrey with the Medicine Buddha

July 20th

Tashi is waiting for Jeffrey and I on our return to our home away from home. Five minutes later, Tashi Rinpoche walks in. It is so good to see him one last time. We all walk down to the street, the three of us on our way to a local temple, and we say good-by to Rinpoche. He holds my hand and gratitude just pours from me for all of his help and graciousness. He told me last night at his home that I don’t have to say thank you so much. He said that he wears this dress, picking up a part of his long crimson attire, because there is no “me” inside, only the intention of being of service. He is humble, funny and fun to be with. So, I say how much I appreciate all he has done and feel our connection through his two hands holding mine. We turn and leave him as we climb into a taxi, on our way to the temple.


Jeffrey, Rinpoche and Tashi at the hostel

July 20th—Last day in Xining

I am still bathing in the luxury of clean sheets and toilets. Funny, Jeffrey and I have learned to really enjoy Xining. Although I never thought of staying in a hostel, this has been just perfect! It is the only place in town that has wifi access, the rooms and entire place are spotless, the staff is like family and the location is just right. There are washing machines, a lovely drying room and cold water and beer in the fridge! What more could we ask for! We have private rooms and baths as well (with western toilets).

We went out for early lunch after I hung up my few clothes on the airy sun filled patio. This is the 3rd day in a row we’ve gone to this “western” restaurant and also the 3rd day in a row I’ve had the delicious shrimp salad. It is a perfect salad: fresh red tomatoes all sliced, crispy iceberg lettuce, sweet onions, tiny slices of red peppers and the ultimate Thousand Island dressing. It is served with a warm, home-baked smelling roll and a fan of butter. After my salad, I have, again, the very best cappuccino I have ever had in my life. The coffee is strong and rich, with a layer of real whip cream that is sprinkled with tiny bits of orange peel. This entire lunch costs a total of 24 Yuen – about $4.00.

On the way to eat
The girls’ walk hand in hand down the street – they are so cute!

July 19

Jeffrey makes a great purchase in the back room of this wonderful shop that is filled with antiques and treasures.

Later, when we get back to our little home, we get the call that we have been waiting for! Our beds are in from India. Over two weeks! What a saga the beads have been. They ended up in Hong Kong, then some other city where they had to go through customs. Now Dowa Drowlma can make the 50 malas!

Our plans to meet with Rinpoche in the afternoon feels like the perfect culmination to our journey. We want to let him know about our adventures and thank him for all of his help. He calls around 4 pm and invites us back to his home. His apartment is on the 6th floor and we easily find ourselves short of breath in the altitude here.


His apartment is light and spacious and filled with laughter and music and women cooking. Jeffrey videos our conversation as I tell Rinpoche our story. After a while, I ask him for one last picture before we go. “Oh, I have dinner for you. And a bottle of wine, because I know you like it!” We look at pictures of his gompa and then sit down to another delicious dinner of noodles, yak meat and veggies. We talk about going out to the nightclub again tonight, but I must meet with Tashi’s wife for our final meeting and teaching of the malas.

She is an expert! She remembers perfectly and makes them as though she done it her entire life. She makes a sample of each, and then we take pictures, trying to be artistic and failing rather miserably. But it is fun to be with the two of them in Tashi’s mothers home, drinking more salty Tibetan tea.

July 19th

Same place for lunch again. I had my shrimp salad. We all have the delicious cappuccino. You might wonder why we would eat in a western restaurant instead of the many wonderful Chinese choices. We think we have found a way to curtail the constant water retention from all the salt in Chinese food. So, now we have only one Chinese meal per day. Of course, now I have to admit that tonight we will go to the same restaurant we did last night and I will have the exact same thing-the best shrimp ever! It comes on skewers and is a cross between crawfish and shrimp. It has some kind of very mild honey, soy sauce coating and is heaped with tiny chopped hot peppers (which I leave for Jeffrey!). A side dish of sautéed cabbage is perfect and an ice-cold beer makes the hot taste bearable. We try our best to give sign language for cold beer. It never works. Finally, someone who speaks English will walk over and interpret. I am convinced now that sign language is not a universal means of communicating, not here.

We grab a taxi and head for Kumbum Monastery, where we first stayed upon our arrival. Jeffrey wants to go shopping and it’s a wonderful Tibetan market. He finds his treasures, Tashi buys a bright golden orange scarf for his wife and I find a wonderful treasure for next to nothing. It’s a cloudy, rainy day and I’m grateful for my hiking boots and umbrella.

July 16, 17, 18—Back in Xining

I wake up on Monday morning so bone tired.  It feels like everything I've been holding for the last 5 months has finally let go!  I could stay in between these white sheets all day long!

But we have made plans with Tashi to take us to the Tibetan market.  Most of the time is spent in back alleys trying to get hold of India and UPS China.  Our beads seam to be traveling all over China.  Probably should have stayed in bed.  I bump my head and my glasses are stolen after I put them down on the counter for one second.  I pray I brought all my contact lens parts and send out an e-mail to my daughter, Kristine.  Oh, the thought of being in China and not seeing as well as not being able to communicate is just too much!

More talking with India, then Jeffrey, Tashi and I head to the market.  Jeffrey, bless his heart, is going to make mashed potatoes and meatloaf for Tashi, his wife, his 6 yr old daughter and his mother.  We go to the large supermarket where ketchup is unheard of, butter is off the charts expensive and there is no ground beef or pork anywhere.  It’s OK.  Tashi says there is some in his fridge at home.

His daughter reminds me of my sweet Sami at home in Portland and his mother is a bundle of love and welcoming.  I sit with her in the living room, looking at pics – some of my grandchildren, some of Sami knitting.  His mother also knits, but with yak yarn that she spins and dyes herself.  I looked all over Tibet for yak yarn but there isn’t any at all.  Food is being chopped and sautéed in the kitchen.  Meanwhile we are served traditional Tibetan food, which is delicious!  Oh, which I could remember the name of it!  

Finally, the plates come out.  Turns out that the ground beef was really chunks of yak.  Jeffrey did a great job with the whole thing – there are even sautéed mushrooms.  Everyone immediately gobbles down the mashed potatoes and yak and he is a huge success!


Tuesday we are without Tashi.  We do laundry all day, reorganize our ever-growing suitcases and move very slowly.  At least I do.  Jeffrey has the “up at 6:30 and ready for a brisk walk” m.o.  Me, I want to cuddle up in my bed with a bunch of pillows and write about our days here.  I do things like find an extra toothbrush and clean the bottom of my hiking boots, which are packed with monastery mud and must go in the backpack I’m sending home with Jeffrey.  Somehow, cleaning the bottoms of my hiking boots with this little brush feels so good and so simple after all of our escapades.  

Jeffrey discovers a Western restaurant about a half a mile away and I have my first of three delicious shrimp salads and cappuccino.  We finalize travel plans with our wonderful, English speaking Fiona who advises us not to confirm our flights with Air China, since they will probably completely mess up the flights if we do.  We believe her! We get a bite to eat and have a lovely evening sitting out on the sun porch and chatting with some other guests.  Everyone shares snacks.  Watermelon is a big thing here.  Jeffrey and I finally started eating things from the street and bought some delicious roasted pumpkin seeds, some other strange sort of nut and a bunch of cookies from the bakery down the street.  Someone else has peanuts and almonds and, even though everyone must be so full, we keep munching out here in the dark with the lights that hide all of the secret broken windows, half-finished buildings and disarray of this city.


Wednesday brings just more bead drama as dear Summer faxes a copy of my passport and visa for customs.  We all just laugh about the make -believe beads now! The people from India call every few hours – they are as concerned as I am.  Surely, they will get here before I leave on Friday.

Tashi takes Jeffrey and I to a camera store and I dole out my 2,300 Yeun for a new Cannon camera.  The instruction book is completely in Chinese, but alas, I have my old Cannon camera book in my suitcase!  We right the date, set it up and take Tashi to lunch in our new restaurant.  The plan is for the boys to have pizza.



I pick up my visa for Lhasa from Jamin and we ramble through the open markets. 

Tonight, I have the best shrimp ever!  I am stuffed.  And happy.

July 14th

Today we shopped in the Tibetan market; I bought some local yarn to make a scarf for Jeffrey as a reminder of our journey together. I purchased 18 feet of lovely black fabric with gold dorjes on it and five feet of luscious gold brocade fabric – all for about 200 Yuen – about $15 American money. What a bargain!

The world’s largest mani stone is here in Yushu, called Jana. Crowds of Tibetan people are circumambulating the very large area. We turn the prayer wheels as we walk, interrupting this meditation only to enter one of the many temple rooms within which is from one to three large prayer wheel. Old, wrinkled, stooped women seem to be stronger then I am as they push the large standing wheels into motion. I smile at them; they return the smile one hundred fold.

The local monastery is next. I take my shoes off and walk inside the prayer room filled with a hundred monks chanting and ringing the bells, trusting that someone will stop me if I’m not supposed to go in. I enter this field of ancient prayer and take my place on the floor behind six Australian women. We are the only others here. As the guys stay outside, I sit in the vibration of the deeply resonate prayers resounding within these walls. Again, I ask myself “How did I get here?” I feel so blessed and grateful.

Tonight we say our first goodbye. It is after our ‘ hot pot’ dinner, Tashi Delek! Tashi Delek! We all know it is our last time together. We laugh, I cry. Jean Su has melted our hearts with his infectious laugh and newly found openness. Nema, who we are saying goodbye to shortly, almost cries with us. He bought Jeffrey and I Om Mani Padma Hung DVD’s, which we watch from our big round table on the second floor of our restaurant. He talks about how much he prayed during the perilous drive up the mountain. On the video earlier he said he was never scared. Now, after a couple of beers, the truth comes out. He too is such a dear. We joke that we must find him a good wife to fatten him up. He is skinny as a rail with a heart as big as the sky. His friendship with Tashi is long and dear.

So here we are getting ready for bed on our last night in Yushu. Jeffrey and I are both sad to be leaving, but also looking forward to a shower and a toilet. We know that few will ever understand our journey and are grateful for each other. We will return.

July 13th

Nema is waiting as we pick him up on the way to Tsanyang Gyatso’s place where he is staying. He actually lives in Shandar, but has come to Yushu to meet with us and we are grateful. We are led into a lovely home, presented with the ceremonious Tibetan Tea (with milk this time), candies, dried yak meat and those round cakes that I’ve forgotten the name of. He is gracious and kind and speaks to us about Gebchek and the nuns and their great need. He will mail the malas back to Tashi in Xining after of month of them being on the altar at Gebchek. He will also bring them to Gebchek after Tashi’s wife completes them. Everything is easily falling into place now – the last few pieces of the puzzle.

Later this afternoon, Tashi must speak with Dowa Drowlma’s parents with her about coming to Xining with us on Sunday. Her father will be alone for a few days and she much get his permission to leave with us. Hopefully, the beads will finally arrive from India and I will spend time again teaching her the making of the malas.

Around noon, we drive to a hot springs in the beautiful Nangchen Valley where Tibetan culture began. On the way we pass a temple that tells the history of the stone etchings of the ancient Buddha’s carved in the rocks in secret places that one would never find unless pointed out. They are from the time of Wing Chua. We circumambulate the beautiful mani stone and stand under the multitude of pure white katas tied together forming a tent above us. Om Mani Padma Hung is etched everywhere. How do they reach those high mountain faces, far above what seems possible to reach?

We arrive at the hot springs and are welcomed into our private large tent, the type that can be seen throughout the Tibetan countryside. They are grand tents; white with black dorjes painted on each side and are very popular during the horse festival. There are four “day beds” with small tables in front of each and a mahjong board and four chairs against another wall. The daybed cousins are covered in a colored rug -like material and the thick bolsters make it cozy to sit against. We order Tibetan tea and boitzas (aka momos) filled with yak meat. Tibetan tea, by the way, consists of yak butter, dou milk (from the female yak) and salt. We also order 3 beers, which, for a change, is cold. I have never had so much beer, but how refreshing it is on the hot days with spicy food! And there is something just normal about drinking some beer – something that I can count on to be familiar I suppose. And the nice thing is that they serve it in very small shot glasses and one or two glasses is perfect!

The hot springs are so cold! It’s a lovely Tibetan style building with the two sides sectioned off for men and women. The women’s pool is small and square – two good strokes and you are on the other side, so back and forth I swim, trying as hard as I could to stay warm. The guys, on the other hand, sound like they are having the time of their lives in the huge rectangular pool on the other side, as the echoes of Chinese, Tibetan and English yelps and cheers resound through the walls. Dowa Drowlma, Tashi’s sweet wife, finds for herself what appears to be a warm place and settles in as though she is in a completely different pool of water. Back and forth, back and forth, then stopping to catch my breath in this thin air, gasping for a moment, feeling my heart wanting to beat right out of my body. But I am warm.

We dress, walk back to our tent and are served more hot Tibetan tea. We are clean, refreshed and full of life. The four “boys” are still jousting with each other and it is just delightful! I point out to Jeffrey that Jain Su actually appears to be walking differently. Yes, he agrees. I hear excited translations of stores for hours about how much fun they had – who got dunked, how Jeffrey tried to teach them to swim, how Nema and Jain Su didn’t stop splashing each other. Wow, and we are so close to being clean!

When we come back home, I wash my hair in Tashi’s back yard. Hot water comes from the kettle on the solar coil outside and I bend over with my head in the bucket. This is the first time I’ve washed my hair in a week – the feeling is glorious!

I don my breathing mask to walk into town – the pollution is unbreathable! It’s a good night to all sit in the backyard and celebrate. We bring out the cake and the children gobble it up. For 65 Yuen, or about $10.00, we have a beautiful big round cake with about 8 happy sunflower faces rising from the snowy white base. The cake says: thank you” and this thank you is from a place so deep in my heart to these four men that have helped make this journey happen. I am so deeply grateful that I can’t speak, but I know that they know. We did this together, each one doing their part, keeping their courage, pushing past fear and doubt – and holding on for dear life. We have a bond and a remembered experience that will stay with each of us forever.

So, we all sing happy birthday to the children, even though it isn’t anyone’s birthday. The Tibetan children here don’t celebrate their birthdays; in fact, many people have no idea when they were born. Tashi was born in a tent in the winter, he believes. Tashi says also that birthday celebrations are a Chinese tradition and not a Tibetan tradition. There is a very fancy birthday candle that we have to read the directions to just to make it work. So amazing, this candle. You light a little thing in the middle of about 10 candles and it starts playing Happy Birthday and the flower of candles begins to open so very gracefully. And it was free! As were the 8 or so small paper plates and the tiny two pronged forks. Good thing, because those are not things that are available here at the house. The rest of us eat the cake from our hands as everyone joins in.

After cake, the guys start talking about poker. Dowa Drowlma is with her father so Tashi goes out and buys a couple of 6-packs of beer and the four guys move upstairs for poker night. I use the term ‘poker’ loosely because Jeffrey says it is really just a way to use cards as a guise to drink a lot of beer and have fun.

The howls of laughter stream down from the top floor. Sometimes, I am just in awe of their keen capability and tenacity. Now, I am in awe of their boyishness and loving tenderness for each other. This must be what it feels like to have teenage sons – its very sweet.

I am alone in the small dusty bricked floored room that Jain Su, Jeffrey and I share at Tashi’s home. There are 3 narrow single beds, each with a colorful deed red Tibetan/rose motif throw. There is a small wood-burning stove with a silver kettle sitting on top and a narrow dresser with an old TV upon which are three small stuffed animals. Between my bed and Jeffrey’s is a five-foot beautifully colored Tibetan wooden chest about four feet tall upon which are stacks of magazines and miscellaneous odds and ends. Above that is a 4 x 2 foot black and white poster of Mao Tse Tong, a common embellishment of a Tibetan home. The low ceiling is wooden with small round beams going from end to end and one large round beam going across. This is a home filled with so much love and laughter and affection. It is so good to be here.

July 12th

We leave Rinpoche’s home the next morning, pick up Nema on the way out and head for Yushu. We are happy that Nema has decided to come with us.

Nema is a quiet, somewhat serious man who works for the government. So many people work for the government here, even Tsanyang Gyatso Rinpoche, the high Rinpoche at Gebchek. Nema is very thin and Tashi continually teases him that he needs a wife. Jeffrey and Nema have created a connection together, the two of them up there in the front seats sharing innumerable glances in the last two days that speak volumes. And, it turns out, Nema and Jain Su have become great friends. I’m not sure just when this happened. Maybe it has to do with something much less visible than usual - great trust. They seem to really love each other and had many toasts last night to their new friendship.

Here we are on the same road again. We pass one of Princess Wangchen’s holy places and there are hundreds of prayer flags streaming above us. This is exactly where I left my camera a few days ago. I realized it when we got to Shandar, about 40 minutes away, and dear Jain Su drove all the way back here to see if he could find it. Tashi was beside himself with worry and got a terrible headache. So, I made up a story for Tashi and I:

I love this beautiful Princess and prayed for her help and guidance. She said, “yes” she will help, but I must give an offering, so I leave my camera right there on the monument to her. Soon thereafter, a young Tibetan man drives by on his motorcycle. He is wearing the familiar dress of pants, a pull over shirt and a jacket. His child is sick and he comes to this place to pray to Princess Wangchen for help and there, waiting for him, is a wonderful American camera in a snappy new case with extra batteries and memory cards. He waits. And waits. No one comes back and 30 minutes have passed. He gratefully takes the camera, sells it and returns to his home with all of the money needed to take his child to the hospital in Yushu. His family is deeply grateful for this amazing answer to their prayers!
Obviously, this is likely not to be what happened, but it helps Tashi’s headache as well as my sense of loss for my pictures. Feeling much better, we all sit down for lunch.

Back on the road, another 2 hours or so go by and we pass the sacred baths of Princess Wangchen.

I take off by myself while the guys park the jeep and, I find out later, all have a great time washing Tashi’s hair in the river with Jeffrey’s wonderful mint shampoo!

I love this place. Prayer flags fill the heavens like a huge flock of birds – a constant fluttering and waving. They go from the top of the mountain on my side of the road, to the top of the mountain on the other side of the road. I wonder how they do that? It is thick with prayer flags – old ones and new ones, large ones and small ones. All different colors, many pink and red. This is the sacred place where she would come to bathe. I climb up a big rock and sit there in the midst of the prayers floating by. All of these last five months starts sinking into me and I am in wonder. Is it all a dream that I will awaken from?

A Tibetan woman starts climbing the rock below as though she has climbed it a million times throughout a million lifetimes. We look at each other as she passes and keeps going. After a minute, I follow her. Where is she going with such purpose? I am high on the mountain now and getting just a bit cautious. I see the car far below and yell out to Jeffrey so that they know where I am. I see him looking around for me, and then looking up. I continue to follow the woman until a combination of breathlessness and fear takes over. Turning around, I start back down the mountainside. Praying and praying. Praying in awe and wonder and the great mystery of life. There is no where I would rather be than here on this mountain, here in this country, here with these people, here with this completeness. Finally, I cannot hold back the tears that have been patiently waiting and I fall to my knees sobbing – and I cannot stop. This dirt, this land of such devotion and prayer and pain, these people who I have learned to love so much; this journey of faith and trust and hard work and so many people helping to make it possible. It is all so much in this moment. I pray in gratitude to Tara and Princess Wangchen, and the Blessed Mother and Mother Earth and all of the great feminine and to my nuns back there at Gebchek, praying in their little boxes for all of us, and I pray for my wonderful guys below.

Actually, not so far below. I hear Tashi calling “Hey, CC, be careful. It is dangerous here”. I tell him I am fine, but he will not leave until my feet are on level ground. Still sobbing, I slowly find my steps down the rock wall. (Thank goodness for the rock-climbing stink I went on a number of years back in Shasta!).

I stop at the stream and wash my face and arms in her bath. I see a perfectly round, purple rock next to me and want to take it, but need to leave something in its place. As I pull off my cowboy hat, my pearl and diamond earring falls off. At first I go to find it, then decide to leave it here. A worthy exchange! I realize that this is the second thing I’ve left at her places of worship.

Tashi later tells me that at the very top of this mountain is a hole with sacred water in it. Next time.

We climb into the car and head to Tashi’s home. Tashi and Jain Su drive Nema to his parent’s home and don’t come back until about 1:00 in the morning. Jeffrey and I walk into town; buy a huge cake and pastries for the family, a bottle of wine and head back home.

There are five wonderful children here and they all gather around Jeffrey and I that evening in the back yard as I show pictures from my computer and then start playing music. Jeffrey and I dance with them and they are delighted, as we are. Tashi’s sister-in-law starts doing her lama dancing, the children sing and I studiously start writing down all of their names and ages. There is 13 yr old Tsen Cuo and her younger sister Padma Tsen Cuo who is 8, and their brother Cho Ja, 10 years old.

This little 8 year old is just the cutest thing ever! Rather impatiently, she repeats her name to me several times, saying it slowly and loudly. When I get it wrong again, she repeats it – just a bit slower and a bit louder. We all laugh hysterically! Affectionately standing with their arms almost always around each other are the two other brothers, Giang Cai Chirang, 16 yrs and Cai Do, 15 yrs old. The affection between these children and their parents is so endearing!

This evening I go through all my bags and reorganize everything. Dust and dirt is everywhere, including on me. It is great to just have time to fuss with everything. I spray rose water on my dirty face. Even though there are bowls here and there, everyone makes such a fuss when we try to do something and I can’t stand to put them out more than we have. Earlier today, Jeffrey had the idea of finding some baths in town he thought he’d read about on-line. However, all we found we those little massage chairs and it looked a bit skanky. Tashi talked about going to a hot springs tomorrow – ahhhhh.

Finally we are off to bed after a relaxed and lovely evening.

July 11th—Jain Su (aka Mr. Jain) and leaving Gebchck

Although quiet, reserved and rarely smiling, I could tell when I met him that Mr. Jain was ‘one of us’. It was easy to see through him to his big heart. As we start on our journey, he barely answers when anyone speaks to him as he religiously keeps his eyes on the long, slow bumpy road to Nangchen.

While Tashi sings and lets out yelps of “Tsa, Tsa” at every mountaintop, Mr. Jain never cracks a smile. When he isn’t driving, he plays some sort of game on his cell phone, which drives Jeffrey and I crazy. Beep, beep, beep, and then some stupid marching song comes on – maybe it is revelry.

We all laugh at Tashi’s loud and impassioned singing and rejoice as we toss paper prayer flags out the windows, even Lama Chuying chimes in. Everyone, that is, except Mr. Jain.

He became obviously nervous in Shangar when Nema began speaking about the bad roads. Little did I know then how Nema would save the day!

We take off for Gebchek early, with Mr. Jain driving. It is Mr. Jain, Tashi, Nema, Jeffrey and I. After a few hours, Mr. Jain can’t drive any more and Nema takes over. Now, here is Mr. Jain sitting in the back seat with Tashi and I – Tashi in the middle, laughing, singing and in a great mood. Mr. Jain sleeps. The roads get worse. The tension grows heavier and the signing stops. No more sleeping for Mr. Jain!

The tension is broken by either Jeffrey or Tashi and we all find relief in a round of great laughter or just stopping the car so everyone can smoke, except, of course, Jeffrey and I. There seems to be something about being so scared that is tremendously bonding. Like maybe these are the last people we’ll ever speak to. Whatever it is, Mr. Jain starts opening up. He even laughs a couple of times and what a wonderful, contagious laugh! We all have to laugh with him! His entire face changes when he laughs.

So, before long there ensues this male bonding thing. Invariably, I am off by myself taking reprieve in the hillsides or trying to pee on the opposite side of the car. In fact, I think the whole thing shifted when I’d asked Jeffrey to keep ‘the boys’ on the opposite side of the car from which I was going to relieve myself. So, there I am squatting on the side of the road and guess who walks over? Mr. Jain! He is so shy! He let’s out a small exclamation and quickly retreats to the other side of the car. All the guys are laughing uproariously! Isn’t it funny! When we are all so nervous, laughter feels like such a fantastic outlet. We all feel embarrassed for Mr. Jain, and all feel a little bit more relaxed.

As the road gets worse, we feel his anxiety raising. This car is his livelihood, as Jeffrey so aptly points out to me privately. As we leave the village after the big scare with the skid, he asks me if I will pay for damages and getting the car out of a ditch, if needed. I tell him, no, I don’t have that much money with me. We pile back into the car and the boys have a long conversation about insurance and that he must have some. The question dies. I pray.

There is great elation when we finally get out of the car on put our feet on the land of Gebchek. Mr. Jain even gets excited with us – it would be impossible not to. Later in the day he is swept with us into Rinpoche’s room. He is later led into the prayer rooms, past the very sacred and secret places. He is adored, along with us, by the nuns. The air is filled with a hint of gaiety.

The only thing that keeps nagging at me is the weather. The thought of going down that mountain makes me want to throw up. But perhaps a worse thought is that the rain won’t stop and we will be stuck up here for days or weeks. Nema told us on the way up that he was stuck in a village home for 20 days once on he way home.

It is still cloudy and raining as we go to bed. Jeffrey, Nema and Mr. Jain all have jobs to get back to soon. Again, I feel this overwhelming sense of responsibility and I pray nothing happens to Mr. Jain’s car.

The next morning, after again meeting with Rinpoche, I announce to the guys that our work is complete and that we can leave whenever it is safe. Because it is so cloudy and raining outside, I am assuming that means in a day or two. God willing!

Early afternoon. I lay down on my cot for a nap. Something inside of me is just beginning to let go of all that I’ve been holding. I am so tired suddenly. As I begin to drift off, I pray for sun. The one great thing about the sun here is that the elevation is so high; the intense heat dries things up very quickly. Just a bit of sun – please.

Next thing I know, Jeffrey is whispering in my ear. “Wake up. It is time to go”. What? The sun has come out, the car is completely packed and, best of all, and we are going to try a different road. I didn’t even know there are two roads! Tashi and I go to say good-by to Rinpoche. Tashi asks him about the road and Rinpoche says, yes, it is best to take this other road. Tashi and I walk down the hill filled with great joy, katas from Rinpoche, packages of blessed herbs and Rinpoche’s blessing for our journey.

The beautiful Tara Malas that Tashi’s wife and cousin made are on the altar in the prayer room and all the arrangements have been made for this project to continue to thrive and benefit everyone involved here. Everything has turned out even better than I ever dreamed it could have and I feel a deep sense of gratitude and fulfillment. I know that, no matter what, everything will be OK now.

There is a mix of excitement and trepidation as we pack ourselves back in the car, Jain Su in the back seat with Tashi and I. Apparently, this road is impossible to cross when there it is actually raining because it becomes washed out by the river. But the sun has come out and we all believe it will be safe. Dear Jain Su has no idea what amazing things his car is about to do.

We hold our breath as Nema pushes the jeep through deep, rocky waterbeds. I don’t know how we don’t get stuck! Nema is the best driver – we all say that over and over – even Jain Su says it. There are small broken down bridges that Nema avoids by taking what looks like uncrossable alternate routes. Jain Su’s car is layered in piles of mud. We edge our way up the steep mountain and take a high, narrow road that looks down far below at a deep and fast moving river. This time I am sitting on the drop-off side. “Roll down the windows!” Tashi is telling us that we must keep the windows down in case the car falls into the river – then we will be able to swim out of the car. But the wet mud splashes onto my face with the window open! Oh, Well. It is all still so much better than the ride up to Gebchek. This is just medium scary! At times there is that feeling you get when you are on a roller coaster – so scary, but also exciting! There are many times we all let out a great “Hooray!” for Nema as he gets us across another seemingly impossible crossing.

Even Jain Su seems to be enjoying this ride at times. Tashi elbows him in the ribs every once in awhile, loosening him up and getting a great laugh out of him. It’s hard not to join in Tashi’s exuberance.

We arrive in Shandar, call Tashi Rinnpoche’s sister and all meet for dinner at the same restaurant we went to before we started our journey to Gebchek. We order a bunch of almost warm beers, are given the little shot glasses they use here to drink from, and have toast after toast. Everyone is speaking in Chinese, but it doesn’t matter. Jeffrey and I join in the laughter and the retelling of stories with the same enthusiasm as everyone else. Jain Su doesn’t stop laughing and talking. Is this the same guy? We have toasts to Nema and toasts to Jain Su and his great car.

There is a deep bonding among us, especially the four guys. God, I am so grateful to them. Each is so capable, so dedicated. No one has gotten frustrated, impatient or has given up. Something happened between us that became bigger than the five of us. It took us, carried us. Of course, Tashi and I were in the back seat the entire time praying to Tara and saying her mantra together. We are convinced it was her. After all, it was Tara that took me to this land in the first place!

July 10th—The Road to Gebchek

Tashi comes in late from Nema’s home and tells us that Nema called his work and will be able to go with us to Gebchek. Another great blessing!

Rinpoche comes in to meet us and wish us well as we prepare for sleep that night amidst the sounds of thundering and lightening. Early the next morning we head for Gebchek without stopping for breakfast, knowing we must beat the rain that is looming in the many distant clouds. We know we can’t go if it rains, but optimistically, we head for the mountain. Or should I say mountains? The last peak is again over 16,000 feet and is called Sky Wall. Sky Wall because when you climb this steep mountain wall, you are so very close to the sky! Within an hour it started drizzling. No one says anything. The rain becomes heavier and the narrow dirt road is starting to fill its potholes with puddles of water. We keep heading up the mountain. We cannot go any slower as we crawl along inch by inch. The drop is on Jeffrey’s side – a sheer cliff that seemed to drop endlessly. Suddenly the car spins. We all jump out, our feet gratefully on solid ground and look at the car which is barely on the road in its almost 180-degree turn. We are all shaken as we stand there on this barren mountain road, knowing there is nothing we can do but go forward. There is no way to turn around or even let another car pass. Tashi jumps into the drivers seat and somehow rights the jeep in one quick move. Where does this come from in him? He and Nema are such dear friends, like brothers and Nema was obviously too shaken to right the car. Jain Su has passed on any attempts to drive on this crazy road long ago and certainly Jeffrey and I wouldn’t have touched that baby with a ten-foot pole! We climb back in as Nema again takes the driver’s seat. I pray to Tara with all of my being, as we all pray in our own way. “Please part these clouds and give us sun, please!”

After an hour or so, we arrive at a tiny village and are received into a humble home. The large thermos that is in every Tibetan home is opened, a few glasses come from somewhere and we are poured hot water, a frequent alternative to Tibetan tea. Although this village is obviously very poor, as is this family, there is the ever-present television blasting away. Jeffrey and I marvel at the cell phone and television reception that seems to reach even the most remote areas.

We will have to spend the night (where, I didn’t know) and either go back to Shandar the next day or, if the sun came out, go forward. “Tashi”, I said, “We are already at Gebchek. Feel the nuns waiting for us. We must go”.

Although something so strong was taking us to Gebchek, I had a moment of terror. What am I doing? Everyone keeps telling us the road is too dangerous, that a truck had just gone over the mountain two days before. Was this fair to everyone? And what about Mr. Jian’s car? It is his livelihood and it is getting mightily beat up.

I walk outside the little dirt home and leave everyone inside. I want to just surrender to whatever needs to happen. There is a man outside, a visiting teacher for the children here in this small village. He says the children will do a little performance later in the day. I ask if we can videotape it and he assures me that would be fine. Hmm. Are we here to do some kind of travelogue instead?

When I walk back inside the home, the decision has been made. We are going! I realize that the rain has stopped and there are blue skies above! They tell me before I even sit down that we must either go right now or turn back. We immediately pile in the car, saying our good bys to this welcoming family!

As we climb the dreaded Sky Wall, Nema’s side mirror is nearly touching the mountain, and on the other side (that would be Jeffrey’s), the wheels kick off loose rocks crumbling from the sheer cliff. Every minute we inch our way closer. The tension is so thick and it seems the only thing that seems to keep us breathing are Jeffrey’s dry jokes.

God, we are happy to arrive at Gebchek. We are here – finally. The nun that Tashi first speaks with beckons a second nun by the name of Mingur. She seems to fly down the stairs, grabbing my hands in hers with such a force and welcoming that it seems we are long lost sisters. Her smile is radiant as she leads the five of us into the room that is usually reserved for visiting Rinpoches. There are five daybeds here just waiting for the five of us. More and more nuns come in, bringing us Tibetan tea, dried yak meat, candies and the ubiquitous bread that looks like funnel cake. They all stand around and watch us eat, or try to eat. Every time we take a sip of tea, they fill our cups. More and more food comes. They are joyful and seem excited that we are here. Tashi suggests that I take out my computer and show them our pictures with Tashi Rinpoche. There must be twenty nuns around me. They want to see more and more. I show them my grandchildren and my children, pictures of thankas and statues. They are delighted! As soon as the camera comes, many of them back away shyly.








Later that afternoon we are taken to see Nangsong Rinpoche, who is 24 years old. No one seems to know the actual English spelling of any of these names, so Tashi and I do our best with it. Anyway, he asks Jeffrey and I to sit next to him on the floor. I am to his right, Jeffrey next to me. Thank goodness, Jeffrey had just asked for instruction on how to property greet all of these Lamas and Rinpoches we keep having the great blessing to be with. It is a new and different culture for him, as it is for Mr. Jain.

Tashi interprets as Rinpoche and I speak with each other. We are there for a long time and ask many questions of each other – mostly me of him. We will meet again tomorrow morning. He welcomes us graciously and says we can stay for as long as we like. Tibetan hospitality never fails to make one feel as though you are family.

The five of us are served tsampa, yogurt, yak meat and noodles. Jeffrey can’t eat again and, as hard as I try, it is impossible to eat much of this food, but I pick away. Now there is an entire line of men, dressed in their lovely jackets, and nuns, just watching us eat. I knit – this at least looks somewhat familiar to them as Tibetan women seem to be knitting at every corner, not that they are out on many corners, but it feels nice to sit here by the warm stove with all of these kind people making my friend, Michael’s, scarf.

It is raining outside as we each take our long walk to the outhouse. A nun follows me outside with a kettle of water to wash off my toothbrush. At every turn, they are waiting to do something for us. We go to sleep, the five of us together in our warm room and I am again grateful for my cozy down pillow that I brought with me from home. The option is the usual – a large plastic bag filled with some kind of husks. We listen to the rain and pray that the clouds empty themselves tonight.

July 9th

Today we awaken early for our drive to Shandar. The mountains here are spectacular – rugged and tall, surrounding us on every side. The “Long” river moves along with us, curving and winding its way ahead of us as though to tell us the way.

We stop at the temple of Wengchen Princess, the Chinese princes who married a Tibetan king. She taught the Tibetan culture about Chinese medicine and how to make a home. She also was instrumental in bringing vegetables to Tibet. The story goes that, if not for her, there would have been a great war. This sacred place is amassed with prayer flags and offerings to her. Tashi tells us that on the mountainside near the temple is a small hole. If you can find this hole, you put your finger in it 3 times and it proves that you are a good son or daughter. Tashi says that some people can never find the hole, and are ridiculed for being a bad child. He took his wife to this place on their first date and, of course, they both found the hole and felt very blessed.

There is a blind, hunched over woman walking down the middle of the street with her cane. Tashi walks up to her and tells her she should move to the side of the road. “I am looking for the mani stone. I can’t find the mani stone”, she says. She is desperate and sad. Tashi tells her that the mani stone is in her heart.

Did I tell you how much I love Tashi?

Shandar is a dusty town filled with motorcycles and scooters (purchased with the money from the sale of their horses) everywhere that weave in and out of people walking. It is some kind of ordered chaos that is made up of pigs and dogs and laughter and popsicles and so many men standing around in their fancy jackets in the dusty heat.

Rinpoche’s home is close – and lovely. A large old silver gate opens to a graceful and colorful home, which is only reached by walking through the front yard that harbors another two barking dogs (there seems to be a theme here). We are taken to a large kitchen with colorful tiled floors, a ceiling of cloth patterned with large dorjes, and furniture etched with a multitude of Tibetan colors. More salty tea! The outhouse boards that surround the small rectangular hole seem very wobbly and Jeffrey and I have a momentary thought about what it would be like to fall to the ground. Yikes!!!

We begin our long search for directions to Dechenling, but first we much check in at the police station – for protection. Fortunately, Rinpoche’s sister is a police person!

Dechingling. This place seems that it is telling me, “This is not the right time to come”. Rinpoche thought the road had been paved, but alas, we are told that it is either horses or motorcycles. We are told that the road is very bad due to the rains and now, 30 minutes later, the only option becomes motorcycles. God, sometimes this is so hard! We are hot, have not showered in days, and have been met with challenge after challenge. Pigs and goats and too many dogs to mention seem to mirror my confusion as they aimlessly walk in circles. Most of the time all the blessings far out way these things, but right now I am worried that all of this is for naught. How to get to this place?

Then dear Jeffrey has an idea. Let’s go the Gebchek first. Suddenly is seems so obvious! If it is so hard to get to Dechenling, it will be too hard for Tashi to deliver and pick up the malas, of course! We call Rinpoche’s sister. She will find the way to Gebchek. Meanwhile, she will take us to a local nunnery. Back in the jeep. Up the mountain we climb until we reach a beautiful monastery perched high up in the hillside. The pure, round and smiling faces of these nuns are a peaceful pleasure as they come to greet us and we enter the cool, dark building. Shoes off, pink rubber slippers on, and up the stairs we go toward the echoing of prayers and drums coming from above. The Nuns sit in long lines chanting and praying in harmony. Three nuns drum on large round drums and a single Nun walks back and forth to the window to toss out the oil from the butter lamp. We are given permission to film and they continue, without pause.

Outside again, some of the nuns gather around, looking at the viewer on the video camera, which brings great delight. I give an offering and, in return, receive a small package of blessings. It is herbs that, when not feeling well, you burn and inhale. With our hearts filled to overflowing, we say godinche (thank you) and ga show (good-bye). I have no idea how to spell these words.

At dinner later in the day, Tashi’s best friend from elementary school meets us and knows the way to Gebchek. He works for the government and has been there many times. It will be a long and hard drive on a road that is too dangerous if it rains. Our driver, Mr. Jain begins backing out, worried about his car. There is no map, no road signs and he is worried, as is Tashi, that we will be very lost or worse, that it will rain on our way up.

Tashi’s friend, Nema, will try to get the rest of the week off. We come back to Rinpoche’s home and prepare for bed. I pray for clear skies.

July 8th

This morning we have tsampas, the yak butter and flour balls that we had at the Nepalese nightclub. Tashi’s brother shows us how to mix up the butter and flour in our individual bowls, scooping it all around in circles until we make a nice rounded ball. They are delicious! This time the salty tea that goes with the meal has milk in it – an improvement!

We spend the day teaching Tashi’s wife, cousin and another women how to make the malas. I had brought about 15 malas with me, thank goodness! We simply cut them and remade this. At least the women could learn to make them. They are better at it then I am! It’s a fun and relaxed day in their backyard and, as usual, everyone is delightful! At lunchtime we go into town for lunch and shopping. The men in town dress in nice pants and jackets – we never see blue jeans on anyone but Tashi. Many of the women are in traditional Tibetan dress – lovely long black dresses, colorful sashes and large coral and turquoise jewelry. We take pictures of them and they love to see themselves on the camera – they are truly beautiful women who adorn themselves with care – no matter how poor.

This is sense of dignity that seems to come from them and they seem proud to be women. Suddenly, I want to travel all over the planet and be a photographer and photograph beautiful women – not beautiful the way we think of in America i.e. without lines or wrinkles, but beautiful in the way a woman carries herself, dresses herself and cares for herself.

Tashi has told me about his mother knitting him clothes throughout his life. Is it possible to buy yak yarn? We go on a yak yarn hunt, but to no avail. So we settle for sheep yard and Jeffrey picks out his favorite color – a beautiful blue-grey. I’ve promised him a scarf to remind him of our journey.

Yushu is a fairly big town – larger then a village, smaller than a city. So many scooters everywhere! And pollution. But, it is fun seeing all of the traditional Tibetan dress.

I have so many questions about his life and about the politics here. It seems that every home has a large picture of Mao Se Tung. Tashi tells me about the different counties. Khalm, where we are, maintains the most traditional Tibetan traditions and has the least Chinese influence. His father fought in the war and Tashi tells us many horrible stores passed down from his father about the thousands of deaths.

He tells a story that when his father was fighting, his best friend was next to him and was shot in the back of the head. When Tashi was born, he had, and still has, a birthmark in the back of his head. When he was a young boy, Tashi’s father asked the High Rinpoche if Tashi was the reincarnation of his best friend who had died next to him. The Rinpoche said he would have to contemplate this question for three days, and then he would have the answer. When Tashi’s father revisited the Rinpoche, he received his answer – Yes, his son Tashi was the reincarnation of his best friend! Tashi says that often his father would say,
“You are not only my son, but my best friend”.

The children here seem to have a different relationship with their parents. There is an open affection with them at every age and a deep respect and tenderness. It is as though one of the greatest things to be proud of is being a good son or daughter.

Tonight we go to bed early as we prepare for another journey tomorrow. Off to Shandar!

July 7th

It’s about 5:30 in the morning on Saturday. Today we leave. There are so many early morning sounds from our 14th floor room. Did I ever say that there is a large lake with multi-colored rubber boats, dragon boats, amusements and a zoo just below us? The first morning we woke up here, Jeffrey pulled me into his room and pointed to a stripped animal pacing back and forth just below. It was a Zebra! Large birds make amazingly harmonious cries to the sleeping world every hour or so and there are hyenas that seem to howl. Last night there was a lovely female entertainer that sang until the fireworks started. It was like a finale that never would end!

So now I sit here in the back seat of our 4-wheel drive car typing away. Next to me is Chivying Lama on one side chanting a constant stream of wonderful mantra. He is a dear man. On the other side is our Tashi – so excited to be returning to Nangchen where his wife, 6-year-old daughter and family are. Finally, our journey has begun and the city is leaving itself behind as the vast expanse of mountains welcomes us into a new chapter. I am so grateful!

To leave the very crowded, overbuilt and over stimulating city of Xining and to enter the vast Tibetan plains must be like leaving this monkey mind of constant chatter and to find oneself resting in the state of pure awareness. It is expansive, mountainous, endless. There is nothing but pure mountainside, and then there is a tent of prayer flags joyfully blowing in the wind. Yaks cross the gravel highway at their own pace and herds of sheep and goat intermittently enliven the countryside. Tibetans works alongside Muslims doing what seems like an endless job of either repairing a road or building a road. We all become silent, sans the stream of prayer next to me that I want to inhale deeply inside of myself. After hours of driving, Tashi puts on a Tibetan CD and enthusiastically sings lively Tibetan songs. We stop for lunch at a small Muslim restaurant and have delicious noodles with yak meat and raw garlic. We feel so strange – as though we are from another planet. “Afterwards, I squat in a rectangular hole – the first of many to come.

With every peak of mountaintop we pass, Tashi lets out a great yell and sprays the small square Tibetan prayer flags into the air for protection from this particular mountain God. We see 2 accidents on the road – curves and potholes abound!

We reach 16,500 feet! It is a celebration as we climb out of the car and stand under the multitudes of prayer flags above. We all join in on the Tsa Tsa Tsa, throwing the small paper prayer flags into the air. We all take pictures and laugh and enjoy to sense of freedom and exhilaration that comes with feeling like you are on top of the world!

We arrive in Yushu about 8 pm or so. Still light out. We stop by the temple on the way in. As we step out of our jeep, all the children came over, saying “hello” in the most perfect English. They are beautiful and laughing and playful. The prayer wheels in front are huge and we turn them one by one as we wait for someone to come with the keys to inside. Chuying Lama is amongst his friends and devotees – there is great joy for everyone. Soon the keys come and we go inside this large square room with one very big golden prayer wheel – bigger than all the ones in front. Butter lamps fill the walls below and thankas fill the walls above. We all join in the turning of the wheel while Jeffrey videotapes and takes pictures. Chuying Lama is so very open and loving with us and seems happy for our joy. I, of course, could barely hold back my tears.

We arrive at Tashi’s wife’s parents home around 9:15 – so late for our supper! The roads are all dirt and very bad. We park the car above, then walk in the dark on stones, and through mud puddles, to their home. Inside is cozy and warm, lit by one hanging light. It is a large, colorful kitchen with one electric burner on which his wife cooks such a delicious meal for us. We drink salty Tibetan tea, and then make our farewells as we head to Tashi’s home.

We are met with the same dark and precarious walkway, this time with four chained, loudly barking dogs. We are greeted with great welcome and hospitality and shown to our room where Mr. Jain, Jeffrey and I will all share a room. To get to the bathroom, we have to walk past the pesky dogs, but thankfully, Tashi’s cousin often goes out with an old broom to quiet them. Truthfully, it doesn’t help much!

My prayer at this moment is that I don’t have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, which would mean walking outside, across the dirt yard, past the scary barking dogs and up the stairs to the dark outhouse. Note to self: drink just enough water to survive!

July 6 th—Lunch at Rinpoche’s home

Today we had lunch at Rinpoche’s home. Jeffrey, Tashi and I and about 5 monks and/or lamas. We ate yak meat and lots of veggies, drank wine because Rinpoche knew I liked it – the consideration and hospitality is amazing here. Tomorrow, we will take Lama Chuying with us to Yushu. I am learning that everything that happens seems to have some purpose. Jamin tried to get us a 4th person to cut down on costs, yet what could be more auspicious than starting our journey with this wonderful, openhearted Lama!

Jeffrey and I have strangely found ourselves starting sentences with “One thing that I like about Xining . . . . .” We love the people. There is always a very ready smile and laugh with my incessant sign language. They are also extremely honest. The streets and alleys are alive with people selling chickens, dogs, cheap trinkets – they sell anything, but there is not one person begging. They seem fascinated with Americans and we laugh that this must be what it’s like to be a celebrity.

We had our best meal tonight. About 5 staff standing around us. The owner or manager walked past the tables with me while I pointed to things we wanted to eat – the entire restaurant enjoys it and everyone tries to help. Thank God for my family evenings of playing charades! We had Hot Pots – a delicious broth that, upon boiling, you put in lettuce, meat, shrimp, and mushrooms – anything you want. Then you eat the cooked food - so good! You spoon out the broth, add cilantro and onion and have the best soup you’ve ever had! Ice-cold beer tops it all off! Our food angel literally stood at our table taking us from bite to bite – Jeffrey laughs that she practically fed us!

The next morning we have tsambas, the yak butter and flour balls we had in the Nepalese nightclub. His brother shows us how to mix up the butter and flour in our individual bowls, scooping it all around in circles until we make a nice rounded ball. They are delicious! This time the salty tea has milk in it – an improvement!

We spend the day teaching Tashi’s wife, cousin and another women how to make the malas. They are better at it then I am! It is a fun and relaxed day in their backyard and, as usual, they are delightful! At lunchtime we went into town for lunch and went shopping. The men dress in nice pants and jackets – we never see blue jeans on anyone but Tashi. Many of the women are in traditional Tibetan dress – lovely long black dresses, colorful sashes and large coral and turquoise jewelry. We take pictures of them and they love to see themselves on the camera – they are truly beautiful women who adorn themselves with care – no matter how poor.

Today we woke up early for our drive to Shandar. The mountains here are spectacular – rugged and tall, surrounding us on every side. The “Long” river moves along with us, curving and winding its way along the road.

We stop at the temple of Wengchen Princess, Chinese princes who married a Tibetan king. She taught the Tibetan culture about Chinese medicine and how to make a home. She also was instrumental in bringing vegetables to Tibet. The story goes that, if not for her, there would have been a great war. The place is amass with prayer flags and offering to her and one the mountain side near the temple is a small hole. If you can find the hole, you put your finger in it 3 times and it proves that you are a good son or daughter. Tashi says that some people can never find the hole, and are ridiculed for being a bad child. He took his wife to this place on their first date and, of course, they both found the hold and felt very blessed.

Shandar is a dusty town filled with motorcycles everywhere that weave in and out of people walking. It is some kind of ordered chaos that surrounds us somewhat like a suffocating glove. Pigs and dogs and laughter and popsicles and so many men standing around in their fancy jackets in the dusty heat.

Rinpoche’s home is close – and lovely. A large old silver gate opens to a graceful and colorful home, which is only reached by passing another two barking dogs (there seems a theme here). We are taken to a large kitchen with colorful tiled floors, a ceiling of cloth patterned with large dorjes and furniture etched with a multitude of colors. More salty tea! We begin then the long search for directions to Dechenling, but first we much check in at the police station – for protection. Fortunately, Rinpoche’s sister is a police person!

Dechinling. This place seems that it is telling me that this is not the right time to go here. Rinpoche thought the road had been paved, but alas, we are told that it is either horses or scooters. We are told that the road is very dangerous and now, 30 minutes later, the only option is scooters. God, sometimes this is so hard! We are hot, have not showered in days, have been met with challenge after challenge. Most of the time all the blessings far out way these things, but right now I am worried that all of this is for naught. How to get to this place? Then dear Jeffrey has an idea. Let’s go the Gebchek first. Suddenly is seems obvious! If it is so hard to get to Dechenling, it will be too hard for Tashi to deliver and pick up the malas, of course! We call Rinpoche’s sister. She will find the way and now take us to a local nunnery. Back in the jeep – she comes with us. Up the mountain we climb until we reach a beautiful monastery up in the hillside. The pure, round and smiling faces of thee nuns comes to greet us and we enter the cool, dark building. Shoes off, pink rubber slipper on, and up the stairs we go toward the calling of prayers and drums coming from above. The Nuns sit in long lines chanting and praying in harmony. Three nuns drum on large round drums and a single Nun walks back and forth to the window to toss out the oil from the butter lamp. We are given permission to film and they continue, without pause.

Outside, some of the nuns gather around, looking at the viewer on the video camera, which brings great delight. I give an offering and, in return, receive a small package of blessings. With our hearts filled to overflowing, we say godinche and ga show (I have no idea how to spell these words).

At dinner, Tashi’s friend meets us and knows the way to Gebchek. It will be a long and hard drive on a road that is dangerous. Our driver, Mr. Jain begins backing out, worried about his car. There is no map, no road signs and he is worried, as is Tashi, that we will be very lost.
Tashi’s friend knows the way and will try to get the rest of the week off. We come back to Rinpoche’s home and prepare for bed. The outhouse boards that surround the hold seem very wobbly and I have a momentary thought about what it would be like to fall to the ground. Yikes!!!

July 5th—Did I say, “What a difference a day makes”? Well, it deserves being said twice!

We got our luggage! The electricity went back on! Jeffrey found his mini memory Cannon card! I found some XL long underwear (but they’re still too small)!

But most of all . . .

Rinpoche met with us – us being Tashi (who we both love more and more with each passing day) and Jeffrey, the jewel (actually his last name).

We mapped out our trip day by day. Each night we will spend in either Tashi’s home or Rinpoche’s sister’s home. He even wants to set us up in the Monastery instead of camping, something we still have discuss today.

He asked me why I do this. Why is compassion important? Why am I here? And why am I here – in this samsaric existence. He said I must know these answers to make a difference.

He spoke deeply about this life, his life. He spoke about the importance of the dharma. He told silly jokes. After hours of drinking endless glasses of tea, he walked us to the Tibetan Ministry building, up the 4th floor. The doors opened and we were in a huge, colorful, Tibetan/Napelese nightclub. We ate yak and lamb and beef and shrimp and some kind of veggies I’ve never seen before and yak butter and flour balls and rice and I danced a lama dance with a bunch of tipsy Tibetans and we all laughed at the bad jokes about the lamb being b a- a- -a – a d.

So much more to tell. Jeffrey is beside himself. Tashi feels so blessed and joyful. I am even deeper in this wondrous, magical dream that started just a few months ago . . . .

Tomorrow, we go to Rinpoche’s home for lunch and wrap up last minute details for our journey to Tibet.

July 4th—What a difference a day makes!

We took the one hour bus ride into Xining and said a sad good-by to our friends at Kumbum. Taking the bus in foreign cities is always such an experience – at least once! We traveled through hillsides and small villages, picking up and dropping off people carrying everythey but pigs. One good thing about not having luggage was that we traveled light!

Found out today that our luggage is probably still at LAX. Meanwhile, we have our driver and Tashi ready to roll, and Jamin, our travel connection, getting ready to go out of town. The driver, Mr. Lee, was getting increasingly irritated and anxious. I hadn’t met him yet, but he seemed pretty uptight The four of us sat around a somewhat dark café this morning – dark because all the electricity is out, a fairly common occurance – trying to make phone calls to Hong Kong, Beijing, Los Angeles and India. Finally got through to India. Seems that our beads couldn’t be sent because of a bad rainstorm there, but will arrive Friday night. I promised Jamin that we would leave on Saturday morning, no matter what. Jeffrey had the swell idea of calling my daughter Leslie. Funny, she said “Mom, you sound a little bit stressed”.

Now, I was planning on roughing it, but that was supposed to be in Nangchen, where I would fashionably don my new REI ‘wear for 10 days and not stink’ clothes. And those cool underwear that say on the label something like “17 Countries, 17 Days, 1 pair of underwear”.

I, however, am still in the same clothes I wore to the airport 5 days ago and they are not the “wash and wear and no stick kind”.

Jamin sat back in his chair and suggested we made a “b” plan. This didn’t seem to be working out. “No, I said firmly. It will all work out”. Somewhere inside of me, I knew that the very miracle of us being here in China spoke volumes more about this journey than these immediate circumstances. Tashi, bless his heart, looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s going to be OK”. He was right. I felt like I was in one of those children’s movies where the heroe and/or heroene has to go through all of these hurdles before reaching some great goal. Well, I wasn’t any heroene and all I knew how to do was pray as hard as I could.. I knew Leslie will get right on it – she is efficient and assertive and, besides, we have travel insurance and, if nothing else, they will get on it.

Oh, and at the end of my conversation with Leslie, I said “Please e-mail me as soon as you know something – NO! there is no electricity in town. I can’t even get e-mail!”. We all burst out laughing! What else can you do? Was this some kind of cosmic joke?

Then we trudged off to the camping stores. We bought 2 sleeping bags and I bought a warm jacket – all for about $100. I’d waited to purchase a jacket until we got to China, since everything seems to be ‘made in China’. I found my perfect jacket, took it home and guess what? It was made in Portland, Oregon!

So, we checked into our new hotel, aka guest house. We are on the 14th floor overlooking a pretty lake. The smell is terrible from the sewers The air is layered in dust and smog and cigerette smoke. Everyone smokes. Jeffrey is a trooper and somehow we manage to put on a smile, grab a cab with Tashi and head for the Tibetan market to see what we can find in the way of beads – just in case. On the way we stop for Chinese food – delicious! Lots of beads at the market,. We even find elastic for the wrist bands. Bought a pair of pants and a lovely skirt, a necessity apparently for women on long trips as the only facade of modesty while peeing on the roadside. And did I tell you how absolutely wonderful, open and kind these Tibetan people are.

So, here we are. It’s about 6 or 7. I rarely know what time it is or what day it is. My eyes are burning from the smog, my nose is recoiling from the smell. Xining is one place you can erase from your 10 top places to visit before you die. But it is also fun and a great adventure. The people are so friendly – maybe because we are the only westerners we have seen here. Sort of a fun curiosity.


Oh, my, I just realized that there are fireworks going off outside. I can hear them, but unfortunately, the air is so thick you can’t see anything.

P.S. Still no electricity, it will be an interesting evening. Darn, and my camping headlight is in my luggage!

P.P. S. I will never take Mercury in Retrograde lightly again!