July 2nd – Kumbum Monastery

We (that would be my trusty companion and videographer, Jeffrey with the blue eyes) stood there blankly starring at the empty conveyer belt as everyone walked away with their luggage. Our smiling driver, carrying the welcomed words “Tsongkha Hotel”, was there behind the security barrier patiently waiting for us as I did my best to sign language to him that our luggage was not here. Jeffrey and I headed toward the nearest luggage office doing our best to believe the words “we will try to get it tomorrow”. So much for the façade of airline efficiency!

Driving through the town of Xining with our 3 new friends, none of whom spoke a speck of English, I got the impression of sprawling dirt - some loose and some shaped into partial building structures. The dust and dirt made our eyes water. But it was also wonderful – the unexpected and occasional Chinese letters in brightly colored paint, the vast expanse of mountains hugging the fields of yellow mustard (or I think that is the plant) in the valleys and the undeniable awareness that we were in a place unlike any we’d been before.

After about an hour, we saw the village of monasteries ahead and at the same time suddenly everything was greener and there were sparkling gold rooftops pointing toward the sky. The perfectly level lines of what looks like wide decorated steps cut into the hillsides stretched before us – many of them, all differently colored. They are like an invitation – “Welcome. You may take any set of stairs you like for your climb up to enlightment.”

Foolishly, I’d assumed someone here would speak English. No luggage, no English. Can’t get through on the phone to my one English speaking contact here, Jamin; no local Internet café. Sign language didn’t even work. Nor does our Chinese phrase book. My adapter was in my suitcase somewhere between LAX and Beijing and I had 3 hours of battery left on my computer, which carried all my contact information.

Finally, I conveyed my need to use their computer and e-mailed Jamin, who is American and an angel. Then I waited. Finally, the sweet girl at the front desk came running for me. They all seemed as concerned for us as we were for us. At least we were all teamed up on the same side!

Oh, the sound of English! Connection. It was Jamin. Then we got in touch with the wonderful Helen Chan, manager of the hotel in Hong Kong. She spoke English and was an angel in trying to help us with our luggage.


Our hotel is part of the commercialization of the Lamastary that surrounds us. Ancient painted buildings perfectly built into the mountainside – etchings and carvings whose pealed and faded paint seems like a wrinkled old woman filled with a treasure of history and lore. Along the dirty pink and white tiled streets are shacks leaning on each other, each holding those beautiful Tibetan treasures that I’ve paid hundreds of dollars for back in Marin County, California. We greet the Tibetans with Tashi Delek – there is always the ready smile. Young Tibetan children laughing “hello”. Where does all this joy come from?

Our rooms are Tibetan style – windows that open onto the plaza. Earlier is was thundering, now raining. Very few lights outside – only the occasional sound of a meditation bell, or laughter or a rare 3-wheeled car in the distance. Jeffrey and I are both in awe of this place. There are no words, but a feeling of deep gratitude, openheartedness and complete contentment.

Tomorrow we meet Jamin, hopefully get our luggage and find an Internet café to let everyone know we are safe.