White Sands New Mexico

White Sands New Mexico, a set on Flickr.

An amazing, though difficult place to shoot.

19 June: Last Day in India

It’s my last day in India.   I fly home tonight after two nights in Delhi.  The day was spent just wandering around until my early evening taxi ride to the airport.

The approaching monsoon season deposited a downpour this morning, which gives the 100-degree temperatures a visibly dense, humid layer. The temperature today soars on the jam-packed streets as a result of the surface heat reflection, the mass of bodies squeezing past one another, and the compounding heat that comes from the steady stream of taxi’s, motorcycles, and Tuk-Tuks.

It’s particularly acute when walking past the street vendors cooking various sweet and savory items in large vats of boiling oil, accompanied by the smoke and incense that thickens the air under their low hanging tarps.  There were times when I found it hard to breath, and had to step into an air-conditioned shop for a reprieve.  I’ve been to the same coffee shop twice now.  They make a decent Cappuccino in a cool and quiet environment that is in stark contrast to what’s just beyond the front window.

 

Stating the obvious, I’d say.

This area, Karol Bagh, is street upon street of shop after shop selling everything imaginable.   Clothing, the vast majority of which is exceedingly cheap, electronics, home goods… it’s all here.   The selection appears to be as endless as the shopping district itself.

I was somewhat interested in a pair of loosely fitting cotton pants.  I found a pair that I might want, but they were made in China.  Cotton sold in India that’s made in China?  The sales person said the tag was wrong, that they are really made in India.  Oh?  I didn’t even try to pursue the logic of that argument.

When you see the standard of living in India, and think that they find it cheaper to import cotton from China, then it tells you a bit about what the standard of living must be amongst the Chinese factory workers.  The pants were 100 rupees, which is about $1.25, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy them.  $1.25 for a pair of pants?  How is that possible?  How many pennies do the person making them, and selling them, earn on that pair of trousers?  With numbers that small, “making it up on volume” becomes an impossibility.

People selling stuff here will tell you absolutely anything and everything if it means making a sale.  It becomes difficult, tiring, and creates negative thinking to be constantly attuned to the stream of fabrications that get thrown your way.   Staying positive has been a challenge, and something I’ve had to consciously work towards.

Once you move past the seller-buyer role, you discover a genuinely nice, gentle, and friendly people.  The difficulty as a traveling tourist, who doesn’t speak Hindi, because very few people speak more than a limited amount of English, is finding the opportunity to move those roles aside.   One has to be very diligent to take advantage of those occasions whenever they might present themselves.

In Delhi – nearing the end of the journey

I spent my last full day wandering around some of the Delhi sights.  Delhi isn’t really as intimidating as it’s made out to be. Basically, it’s not terribly different than the other places I’ve been, only there is more of it.  Plus of course, you have a range at the high-end that you don’t get in other places, and you have a larger bottom end; though, I’m not sure it’s necessarily any lower, just wider.

It’s rained a bit over the last few days, so that appears to have cleansed the air somewhat.  When I first came through here almost 6 weeks ago my throat was burning within 30 minutes.  Either the rain has helped, or I’ve developed a protective coating on my throat (now there’s a thought!).

I couldn’t tell if it was a bicycle rickshaw graveyard or parking lot.

I continue to get people telling me to “be careful”, but I’ve yet to fully undertand what I’m supposed to be carful of.  So far, even today, even is some of the tightest, most crowed, zero-touristy, local markets and streets, I’ve yet to feel at any risk.  Either I’m ignored, smiled at, viewed as a curiosity, a sales target, or I’m occasionally warned to be “careful”.    In either case, I feel very safe here.

The largest Mosque in India

And outside the Mosque on all the streets radiating from it was the largest flea-market selling the most cheap trinkets I’ve ever seen in one place. This is just one of at least a half-dozen streets that looked all the same.

Then I visited the nut and spice market.  Shop after shop selling a wonderful array of goods.  I bought some spices, which I’m assuming I won’t have problems bringing back into the US.

The spice market road was jammed packed with people hauling goods.  These guys look like they are working really hard pulling all this stuff.

Now check this crew out.  As I was standing in the street taking photos of the people hauling goods, theses guys were yelling at me to “take our photo”, so I obliged.  They decided to show how macho they are.     Definitely the “tough” crowd.

This poor guy was cycling along and his turban or head scarf or what ever it was came undone and the wind wrapped it around his head so he couldn’t see a thing.  That didn’t stop him however.

Interestingly though, there was not one woman working in this entire district.

Driving, traffic and getting around Rajasthan

Below describes how one can get around Rajasthan, with a particular emphasis on the last option, Driving.  This assumes of course you’re doing a do-it-alone sort of trip vs. a package tour in a nice comfy bus with a bunch of like minded travelers.   Your options:

Planes.  Not real practical as they don’t go to most places.  One or two flights might work, but ultimately, you’ll need to rely on one of the other options.

Busses.  Exceedingly cheap, crowded, and hot.  Add to that the excruciatingly long journey times, and this would only be the choice of last resort, or if you are on a painfully small budget, or you are really looking for the” True Indian Experience”.   You could also try drinking some local water and spending a few days on the toilet and call that a “true Indian experience”; however, I wouldn’t recommend it.

Trains.   Still pretty damn cheap, but the trains are crowded and overbooked weeks in advance (they do hold back some tourist tickets, but you are taking a gamble on the type of seat you might get), they are very slow-going resulting in long journey times, and are notoriously late besides.  Plus, there are some places that trains simply don’t run, so you’ll still need to supplement that choice with a bus or taxi.

Taxi’s.  See hiring a car and driver.

Driving: Hiring a car and driver.  This appears to be the common choice, as evidenced by the fact that most hotels have “driver sleeping rooms”.   This is a relatively expensive choice, though; relative to trains it might cost you an additional $20/day premium.  The good side is you have flexibility, your schedule is reasonably predictable, there’s air-conditioning, and you can use the driver at your destinations to take you places, so in theory there are zero additional transportation costs (see last paragraph where theory meets reality).

However, there is one downside to this choice, and you might think what I’m about to explain about “being on the roads in India” is a tad over-stated, but after spending 8 days driving around Rajasthan, I am NOT exaggerating.

In the annoying but not inherently deadly category are the horns.  Or should I more accurately say, the FUCKING HORNS.  Drivers of all vehicles beep their horns incessantly.  So, just how incessantly you ask?  Well, at every turn, at every vehicle passing (more on this), at every cow, when driving past a person on the side of the road (we’re in India, so as you might imagine, there are lots and lots of people on the sides of the roads), and when coming close to other vehicles (see previous comment on passing by people).

In the cities, some motorcycle drivers have decided to forego the whole beeping process, or at least the part between beeps where there is a nanosecond of silence, and simply just lay on the horn continuously.  This adds a new level of background sound to the otherwise oscillatory din.

During one bout of particularly harrowing driving I asked my driver to take it a bit easy and try and drive more safely.  His response?  Instead of actually changing any of his driving habits, he just honked the horn more.    Once on a very quiet stretch of hilly road that was amazingly devoid of cars and people, I was sitting in the back seat just wondering how long my driver would go without beeping because there was nothing to beep at.  He actually beeped the horn at a BIRD!!! I think he was having an episode of horn beeping withdrawal and had to beep at something, anything.

Passing is a continuous part of the traffic flow on Indian roads.  The highways are jam packed with trucks hauling heavy goods.  These trucks go somewhat slow, and they actually have large lettering on the back that says, “please honk”, like anyone would need a reminder.   So, trucks are passing trucks, and cars are passing cars and trucks.  The result of which is that on a two lane road – and here is where you might think I’m really overstating things a bit – you have a full-on near death experience about 10 to 20 times per hour.

How near-death are we talking about here?  Well, pretty damn near. Two trucks would regularly be coming at us taking both lanes so that my driver had to, and only at the last minute mind you, drive off the side of the road to keep us from becoming a hood ornament on the oncoming truck.  This was particularly troublesome when two trucks were coming at us at the same time my driver was also passing a vehicle.  So, you have four vehicles all barreling down the highway at each other, everyone waiting to see who blinks first… or who has a screaming American in the backseat.   This situation was the most bothersome when all this was about to occur when there were concrete barriers on the side of the road, thereby limiting our options to drive into the bushes for safety.

Now you might think that a four-lane road would solve these problems.  But you would be dead (sorry, bad choice of word) wrong in that assumption.  Even on four-lane roads that have a solid divider between them there are STILL vehicles coming at you on your side of the highway. And every road is in some state of repair, disrepair, or construction, which means that a four-lane road isn’t for very long anyway.  In short, it’s an absolute free for all.

Oh yes, one more minor item that is probably fairly obvious at this point, stop signs and stop lights are mere decorations, speed limits are obeyed by using a factor of 2, “no-passing” (excuse my while I chuckle) signs are dutifully ignored, and the number of policemen on the roads are in inverse proportion to the number of cars.

My last day of driving is supposed to be tomorrow.  It’s an 8-9 hour journey back to New Delhi, which my driver will have a joy of doing solo.  I’m flying.

Jodhpur, India: The Blue City

These carts selling dried cakes (they look like toasted bread) are everywhere; however, if you ate one, you would also be eating the exhaust from the cars, trucks, taxi’s and motorcycles over who knows how long that have inches by.  I never actually saw anyone buying any, though it appars this youngster is eating one.

A camel pulling a cart of scaffolding.

Drying textiles along side the road.

Jodhpur is called the “blue city” ’cause many of the houses in the old part are painted, yup, blue.

Me and the local music man.

My hotel in Jodhpur.  This is a central area which is open to the sky.  Must be fantastic during a rainstorm.  The restaurant is behind me, and the door to my room is off to the right, just past the arches.

This is in the fort.  It’s the handprints from the 31 wives of one King about 400 years ago. He was a busy boy.  Not sure what happened to the wives, however.   The audio guide left out that little factoid.

A nice pot in the fort.  It stands about 5 feet tall.

Ranakpur, India: An amazing Jain Temple, monkeys, and a camel.

Definitely the most impressive temple so far… and I’ve see quite a few in the last 5 weeks.

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Udaipur, India: Just a few photos

A hotel on the lake.  Looks like it’s floating, but I’m assuming it’s firmly seated into the bottom of the lake.

A very blue wall.

Young girl picking dead leaves out of a shrub.

The Hindi Temples are marble, marble, and more marble.  Marble floors, walls, carvings, and of course stairs, which after a rain and when in bare feet (required) makes for a very slippery surface which I can attest to given the sore foot I currently have as a result of, well…sliding on wet stairs.

Other random thoughts and observations

In the “I’d rather not know” category:  I went into the restaurant kitchen at my hotel in Pushkar to get a glass.  Now over the last month, I’ve drunk cold drinks out of many glasses, but watching this particular glass be washed was a bit of an eye opener.  It reminds me of when I was about 5 or 6 and I just finished a plate of cookies and ice cream.  I licked the plate “clean” and put it back into the cupboard.  My mother was watching me, and took it out again, and told me the plate was dirty.  But wait, it looked clean, so it must have been clean, right?  Wrong, Bobby, it’s dirty.

I thought of that today as I watched this glass come from a shelf and get wiped with a large dirty cloth.  Then, noticing it wasn’t “clean” enough, the kitchen worker rinsed it under the cold tap (water mind you that I wouldn’t drink in a million years), and then re-wiped it with the same dirty cloth.  Hey, it looks clean, so it’s clean, right?

I drank my beer directly from the bottle.

 

Washing clothes in the lake

Food:  now there’s a heavy subject.  Probably the weightiest issue for me is that of eating.  The food on the bike trip was plentiful and reasonably tasty, if not a bit repetitive.  After all, how much Dahl Baht and rice can one person consume?  Well, it you’re Tibetan, quite a lot it appears.  They have it literally every day, and so did we, among other things.

In India, I have only a vague idea of the foods on the menu, so when ordering, I usually stay in a known range of items.  The basmati rice of India is very nice, and a welcome change to the sticky rice of China, but let’s face it, it still rice.  I’d do just about anything for some fresh fish and a trusted green salad.  Not something I’ll be eating until I’m back in Santa Fe.

Sub-continental haircut:  I did it.  I got a $1.20 haircut in Kathmadu, and while it’s not a very good haircut, it’s certainly not 30 times worse than my last one in Santa Fe.  Plus I got a head massage which included a very bizarre eye massage that I truly did not enjoy.  I drew the line when he wanted to twist my upper body into a pretzel with the objective of cracking my neck bone.  I don’t crack easily that way, so I had visions of him throwing my neck out in the process of finding the “crack”.   Thank you, but no thanks.

 

Coming into Udaipur there are hundreds of marble depots. Never before have I seen miles and miles of cut and uncut marble.

Travel books that don’t know what the hell they are talking about:  I’ve gained a new disrespect for travel books, even the Travel Bible, The Lonely Planet, since being on this trip.  One book said that a specific road in Tibet was paved after the 2008 Olympics, when in fact it was rock and dirt.  That’s not a matter of opinion; it’s hard fact that doesn’t change in a few years, even in Tibet. That minor omission is substantial when riding on a bike.

Then there are the many sights in India and Nepal that you read about and then experience.  I wonder a) if these travel writers ever visit most of these places, or b) if they do, are they seeing them though the wrong end of the telescope?  Sure, there are interesting sights in just about any town, but to discuss them with blinders on is, well, just a tad unrealistic.  After all, that’s not how one experiences a place in the real world.  You actually have to go to this supposed interesting place, and sometimes the journey is more enlightening than the destination (and quite possibly not in a positive way).

The guides also talk about the daily hassles of this city and that, of which precious few are ever really a problem.  I suspect they pull out their standard hassle list and stick in every book regardless of the practical realities of them actually happening or not.  Pick pocketing in India and Nepal?  Have I been in some parallel travel universe?  You would have to allow your wallet to dangle from your pocket to entice someone to actually take it from you.  Hell, I’ve dropped money and had people pick it up and give it back to me.  The only place I’ve felt safer is in Japan, but that’s an extreme place when it comes to travel safety.  Next time, I’m going to save my $20 and forget the travel book.

 

A worker managing the marble cutting machine.

Everything is “no problem” even if it is:  Your sign says you have espresso, do you have espresso, yes, no problem, but can I see your espresso machine, yes, no problem, can you please show me how you make an espresso, yes, no problem, see… see here this jar of Nescafe?  Yes, its espresso, no problem.   And: How far is the market from the hotel, no problem just 5 minutes walk, so, if I walk it’ll take me about 5 minutes, sure, no problem.  25 minutes later I reach the market.

 

I have no idea why I found this this endless sea of marble slabs so fascinating, but I did.

The scene of poverty raises a notch:  To get to Udaipur from Pushkar you have to drive through Ajmer, which is just 15km into the ride.   We left Pushkar at 7:00, so we were driving through Ajmer before the city had time to fully awaken.  Now I’ve seen quite a lot of poverty so far while in the region; but there’s poverty, and then there’s Ajmer.  Just when I thought I was becoming a bit anesthetized to seeing how most people live here, my drive through Ajmer took my awe to another new level.

Hundreds, probably thousands of people sleeping on the streets and along the roads, sometimes under makeshift tents made from a draped tarp, sometimes in row upon row of actual tents that had no front or back, but more often, not even a newspaper covering them as they laid on the bare ground.  I saw children sleeping on the concrete median in the middle of the road.  Small fires were burning in corners throughout the fringe of the city giving the soot-filled air another level of toxicity from the burning plastic.   Open pits of putrid water were being used for all sorts of activities.   I left my camera in the case, it was too depressing to try and record any of it.

Then, when driving over a bridge, there were several women, nicely dressed as they normally are, sweeping dirt from the edges of the curb.  Sweeping dirt?  The context of this activity in light of what was happening just before the bridge seemed bizarrely out of place.

Then we drove by the Ajmer train station.  This is where I would have arrived and departed had I used the train system as originally planned before I decide to hire a car and driver.  The train building sat back from the road about 50 feet with a high wrought iron fence at the street line.  In that 50’ space between the fence and the building was a solid mass of people that extended the full width of the station.  Hundreds of people were jammed together, apparently trying to work their way into the station.  Had I kept my original plan, I would be there.  Well, actually, I wouldn’t, ‘cause my minor claustrophobia would have escalated into a world-class anxiety attack.  No, the train experience would not have worked.

India: Thoughts on beggars, poverty, and happiness

As a Westerner, and when in the more touristy areas of any city, there is a continuous flow of people selling and begging.   The adult men are mostly selling, but if you see one with a metal canister hanging from his arm, you can be certain he’ll ask for money.   Sometimes they want money for the sake of asking.  Other times they will wave their incense pot in your face and ask for a donation, other times they ask to have their picture taken for a few Rupees.

The taxi’s and tuk-tuk drivers are constantly asking if you want a ride.  But it’s the children that are the most difficult.  They are persistent and rarely take a gentle “no” as an answer.  In Pushkar the children put a spin on the religious nature of the city and say they don’t want money, they want food, and that buying them food will bring you good karma.  However, to actually buy them food, you would have to go to their favorite stall and pay the tourist price for whatever it is they want.  It’s a scam, but one that pulls on your heart strings a bit more than some old bugger selling a whiff of incense.

Dealing with the children has been an interesting challenge.  Giving in to them would be a never-ending situation, so that would not work.  They travel in packs, and I’ve seen what happens when a Westerner hands something over.  They communicate to each other like ants, and within seconds they are swarming around you.  No, that approach would definitely not work.

A firm, but affectionately delivered “NO” can sometimes work, but it has the negative effect of backfiring and making you feel like a mean old fart.  So, that would only be used in very extreme situations, and I’m trying not to do that at all.  Looking them in the eye and saying a gentle “no” can sometimes work only if you say it about a dozen times.

The latest approach is to stop (‘cause they mostly are hitting you up when you are walking), give them a long look while maintaining a smile and looking into their eyes, and tell them very quietly, “no, do you understand no?”  Give them a second to digest this before walking away, and then continue on.    It seems to work OK, and it appears to not leave a negative effect on either party.   I did this yesterday to one of the most aggressive and persistent little girls yet.  Then today another girl about her age, 13 or so, was trying to extract a few Rupees from me and before I had much time to tell her “no”, this girl from yesterday appeared and told her friend, in Hindi, essentially not to bother because I’m not paying.  I told her “I’m not paying”, and she said, “yes, I told her that”, and you know, she was smiling and not in the least bothered.  I guess I’m a marked man in Pushkar!

One of the other areas of concern in planning this trip was how to deal with all the poverty, because in all the places I’ve been, Tibet, Nepal, and now India, poverty is everywhere and constant.    And this poverty is not like the Peruvian poverty I saw when traveling there.  It’s much, much more severe.

One reaction is to feel guilty.  But I don’t.  How could I?  I didn’t cause this poverty, nor can I effectively do anything about it.   I don’t feel like I gained what I have through unscrupulous means and certainly not at these peoples expense.   There is another reality that strikes you after weeks in this situation, and those realities are that the majority of our planet – the vast majority – lives like this or worse (or maybe only marginally better).

Most of the people on Earth live one hell of a lot closer to this level of poverty, than to the level of affluence of anyone who’s reading this.   We have a very poor planet, and our affluent lives and abundance of material belongings are the extraordinary exception.

Extracting sugar can juice for drinks.

This then begs the next question, “Who’s happier”?   Well, I think it’s a safe bet that there would be agreement that all our stuff does not, on the whole, give us any certainty of happiness.   I think it’s a given that if you are looking for happiness from your possessions you’re guaranteed to fail in that endeavor.

As I say in the world of cycling, if you are keeping score, you can expect to be disappointed because someone will always be faster or stronger than you.   If you compare you to you, then if you want to be better than you were, you can work on that.    If you want to have more stuff, then you’ll never get there because by definition there is no end to that, and if you’re keeping score, there will always be someone with more who will make you feel like you have less.

So, back to their happiness.   I have no idea if they are happy or not, but I can tell you this with absolute certainty, they don’t look any less happy then the rich Westerners I’ve seen in my life.   These people are friendly and give the most genuine smiles imaginable.  I never see those looks from people on the streets of the US.    This is their life, and while it’s not a life I would want, I have to say, they don’t look miserable.  I’ve seen people who appear far more miserable who have a LOT more stuff and a lot more living comforts.

This is the morning after of a traditional Indian wedding.  At first I though they were filming the latest Bollywood movie, then I thought it might be some corporate event, but no, an Indian Wedding.  Quite an affair.

Pushkar: The Holy City, but don’t look behind those closed doors.

Pushkar is filled with pilgrims that come to the lake to wash, pray, and make a good-luck offering to their families.   As I was walking to the lake, a man stopped me, asked where I was going, and when I said the lake, he gave me a small handful of flower petals.  He made sure I held them in my “lucky hand”, that being the right hand, and told me to go to the lake and make a wish for my family.

At first I thought it was MANG Pizza, then I realized it was supposed to be MANGO!

When I got to the lake, a Brahman took me by the hand and had me recite a long series of words that comprised a prayer offering.  He took my flower petals, mixed them with three colored pigments, and after much ritual, he put a yellow dot on my forehead.  He had me say a bunch of more words, and I put my flowers in the lake.  It was all very nice, until the subject of money came into the prayer offering.

He insisted I incorporate the actual amount I was preparing to commit into my prayer as part of my “good karma”, and “good luck wish to my family” (the more good karma one wants to have, and the more family members one wants to bestow good wishes upon, the correspondingly higher cost there is, apparently with this individual). Of course, anything I gave was up to me; the money was going to a charity (which seeing how it was all playing out, I happen to believe… hey, I got a receipt!).

He insisted I pay in US dollars, and he even had a recommended amount.  When I said I would pay in Indian Rupies, and I’d pay what I wanted to pay, he frankly got a bit testy for a devout religious person.  He then showed me what other westerners paid (from the receipt book), to which I said all very calmly and nicely, that didn’t really matter to me.  So, bottom line:  give what you want, the amount doesn’t matter, but really good karma comes at a price, and good wishes come at an even higher price, and the amount is variable based on which country you come from.

He put the string bracelet on my right wrist as a proof that I made my offering, and in the end, he seemed satisfied even though I fell seriously short on the financial amount.

Washing at the lake pools.

Suffice to say, Pushkar is a religious city.  No alcohol, all restaurant meals are strictly vegetarian, and may even be vegan as far as I can tell so far.   I didn’t know about the alcohol rule, and asked about it at the restaurant.  I was told I could have a beer brought to my room; however, I had to pay for it in advance, and someone would go outside the Pushkar city limits to buy it for me.   They even brought me a small refrigerator for my two-beer purchase.

After dinner I went to my room.  There was a knock at the door.  In comes the person I spoke to the beers about.  He has this huge bulge in his pants, and I can tell you it had nothing to do with him seeing me!  He steps in my room, closes the door, and removes two bottles of beer from under his belt.  In his pocket he had a small bottle of vodka for another guest.    When I asked about a bottle opener, he smiled and pointed to the large metal dangler hanging from my room key.  It’s a bottle opener, for Cokes, he suggests with a bit of a wink.

One of the many stairways down to the lake.

Cows, cows, cows….

Jaipur: The Pink City of Rajasthan

My plan was to take a train to Jaipur in Rajasthan.  But apparently, the Rajasthan train system is anything but reliable.  The trains tend to be very late, and all the trains were booked, so I was kinda stuck.  So, I switched to plan B:  I rented a car and driver to take me on a 9-day road trip.  This was surprisingly cheap, and given the unknowns of the train system, it seemed to be the most logical alternative.  I now have “a driver” who can not only take me to whatever town I want to visit, but can also drive me to the sights if I desire, and can take me to a restaurant if necessary.    Rajasthan in June is very hot, so having an air-conditioned taxi at my beck and call is pretty nice.

The Water Palace

Feeding the birds at the waters edge.

My first stop is Jaipur, the “Pink City”. After my 5-hour drive here, I needed to take a walk, so I left the hotel in the scorching mid-day sun and walked towards the center of town.  I can see what must have been some spectacular buildings a few hundred years ago, no doubt a deeper shade of pink than exists now, after multiple decades of diesel exhaust giving them a fine, industrial sort of patina.

Street vendors providing a haircut and message for about $1.00

I was walking for about 60 minutes, and in that time I never saw one Westerner.  Suffice to say, this is not a big tourist town.  And I can see why.  Now if I said it was a bit of an “open sewer”, you might accuse me of hyperbole, or of using a metaphor to describe the place.  But no, there actually IS an open sewer.  There is this concrete trough that runs parallel to the road, which is normally covered with concrete panels with spaces about every 18” or so, which sometimes makes the “sidewalk”, and sometimes it’s between the sidewalk and the road.  And through it flows the effluent of the city.

This was not pretty.

Which means in the best of times (whenever that is) the open sewer is a least partially hidden by small concrete panels, but that would NOT keep the smell hidden.  However, today, and I’m guessing it was because of last nights torrential downpour, there were dozens of workers down in the trough, shoveling out the sludge that obviously became clogged overnight.

So in today’s intense heat, instead of the waste flowing below grade, it was sitting in heaping piles along the road.  Walking along, it was a real challenge keeping myself from gagging.  The smell was overpowering, but no one other than me seemed to notice.   This is not the Rajasthan of the travel brochures.

Then, I saw this parade.  There were hundreds of women, dressed in flowing red clothing, balancing clay pots on their heads.  At the front of the procession were a few camels properly decked out for the occasion.

Balancing an engine on his head.

Flowers for sale

New Delhi: only by Kathmandu standards could Delhi seem relatively calm

Leaving Kathmandu on a flight to India is, well, different.  On a completely full plane (six seats wide, and 35+ rows long) there were about 6 Westerners.  Security at the Kathmandu airport is large in quantity, but short in thoroughness.   I had my bags either screened or hand-searched at least 5 times from the time I stepped into the airport to the time I boarded the plane.  The last bag search was at the bottom of the stairs to the aircraft.   However, all of them were part of the rushed mayhem that is characteristic of that airport, so consequently, the search was perfunctory at best.

Signs clearly said that no more than 100ml of liquids could be brought on board in a container.   Though, when asked about my aluminum water bottle, which was half full, I said, “it only has a few sips of water”, which seemed to be an acceptable answer.

Pots in Kathmandu in the pottery district of Bhaktapur. Saw lots of clay, saw unfired and fired pots, saw an huge earthen kiln, but couldn’t find anyone actually throwing a pot.

 

The first time I took a taxi from the Delhi airport to the hotel was at the very beginning of my trip, almost a month ago.  This was the same ride to the same hotel.   But, unlike the first time, this ride seemed absolutely calm, which is only in comparison to, a) my prior 4 weeks, and b) just spending a few days in Kathmadu, which is insane by any standard.

 

June 7, Last Cycling Day, #18: The final stretch into Kathmandu

After yesterday’s grueling ride, I wasn’t looking forward to the slog into Kathmandu; however, while the ride in was intense, it was tolerable. It was only 20 miles, but the closer we got to Kathmandu, the more we shared the road with cars, busses, trucks, and motorcycles. By the time we were inside the city proper, it was the usual mayhem, but we made it to the hotel without incident.

This type of cycling takes a tremendous amount of concentration… not on the actual cycling mind you, but on everything else, and on your own mission. If one does not cycle aggressively, you would never get anywhere. But we’re done.

All told, over 750 miles, 18 days of cycling, over 60,000’ of climbing, 5 passes exceeding 16,000’, sleeping at 15,000’ to 16,000’, sick once, lost 6 pounds (not good, and I’m eating like mad to put it back on), and it was overall, a fantastic experience.

I’m now in New Delhi, and plan on traveling in Rajasthan for a few weeks.  Cycling is over, but this will most certainly be a whole different experience.

Morgan Freeman’s brother in Kathmandu.

One of the thousands of interesting people on the streets.

Checkout this DVD rental window.  You got some of the hot US political topics in three DVD’s:  911, Bin Laden, and Obama.    Speaking of Obama, he certainly is popular around here.  I was on one of the remote passes in Tibet, miles from anywhere, and a person asks me where I’m from, and I say the USA, and he say’s, “Obama!!!”, the people in Nepal, Tibet, and India love him.  They love giving you the thumbs up and saying “Obama!” It’s quite something.  I doubt I would have heard that 5 years ago about Bush.

Lhasa to Kathmandu, 5/ 5, Cycling Day 16: 9,100’ of continuous downhill… wheeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The descent was from 13,600’ to 4,500’ over the course of 47 miles.  We started our morning on the cold arid plain of the Tibetan Plateau surrounded by snow-covered peaks.  By lunchtime we were in a lush, humid jungle overgrown with vegetation and a cacophony of tropical forest sounds.  The contrast from this morning is astounding, and welcome.

Follow the road with your eyes, it’s the most unbelievable downhill ever.  Great road, serene canyon, no cars, and down, down, down.

Our drop was through a steep river canyon, the base of which remained in shadows for most of the morning.  Every 1,000’ of decent brought with it a change in climate zone.  First we started seeing low shrubs and wildflowers.  Then we saw trees (our first trees in almost three weeks).  The sounds of birds became more and more pronounced as my altimeter spun lower.

The road just goes and goes and goes.  The road looks like it’s bottoming out, but it’s not.  It just keeps going down more and more.

Broad leaf ferns were growing at 9,500’.  The air became more humid, and for the first time in weeks my throat was not sore from breathing in the bone-dry air of the high Himalayas.  A layer of clothing was shed every 3,000’.

Further down we went; the smells of the damp jungle was a welcome change from the no-smell of the plateau.  The smooth road surface was free of traffic, so we could fly to our hearts content, only stopping to take in the surrounding remote beauty of the shear canyon and boiling rapids below.

Staying focused on the road, the canyon, and the newly changing sensations made for a perfect cycling experience. The fact that my fingers were cold at the beginning of the decent was only noticeable for a few seconds, then staying intensely focused on the experience made that become a minor feeling that would fade away to insignificance.

Porters carrying the contents of trucks across the border to Nepal.  Most trucks are not allowed to make the crossing.

Then, as we were ready to enter Nepal, we were woken from our cycling nirvana to the harsh contrast of the quiet canyon to a quintessentially awful Chinese boarder town.  Crowded, smelly, dirty, and an architectural nightmare.  There was a line of about 50 trucks queued up at the border, which took up one lane.  The other lane was a long line of women porters hauling the contents of the trucks over the border to another truck on the Nepalese side.  Certain vehicles are not allowed (ours was one such type, and I have no idea how it’s defined) to leave China, so porters are hired to ferry the contents across the border.

We had to go through Chinese customs to leave and consequently to show our passport yet again.  Then we had to show it again just before we stepped off Chinese soil just in the event that we turned into someone else in the previous 5 minutes.  Then, we had to get a Nepalese Visa, more showing of passports, and voila, we were across!

The Nepalese side of the border was worse.   More poverty, strikingly worse roads, but I have to say, and maybe I’m imagining it, the Nepalese seem one hell of a lot friendlier than the Chinese.  The Tibetans are very friendly as well, but there are precious few of them relative to the huge influx of Chinese into Tibet.

Notice the suspension bridge.   Our resort is on the other side.

We’re spending the night at The Last Resort.  It’s a fixed tent complex with hot showers, a bar, and restaurant, and the very famous Bungy Jumping off the 550’ high foot-bridge that spans 300’ across the raging river below.   I cycled across the bouncy and wobbly bridge, and can say that under no circumstances would I even consider for one nanosecond jumping off it.   Insanity is a perquisite as far as I’m concerned.

I will NOT be jumping off this bridge!

 

Looking down.  People actually bungy jump off this????

My afternoon will be spent sitting in this chaise lounge overlooking the lush canyon in front of me, feeling the breeze, listening to the cicadas, and keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground.

The jungle came more alive when the sun dropped below the canyon walls.  Noises from the banana trees that I could not identify, praying mantises flitting about, and a wall of noise “out there” that grew louder as the sun set further.  Then came the rain.  This environment does not get green by fertilizer.  It rains, and when it does, it comes down in solid sheets.  Our tent structures had metal roofs, and the roar was deafening, and fantastic.  Then, in the morning, it was sunny, clear, crisp, and the leaves were dripping from the evenings deluge.

June 1-4, Cycling Days 12-15: Everest Base Camp, A Town of Dogs, and Two Passes over 16,400’

June 1: It was a short ride today of only 24 miles, and our maximum elevation was 16,750’ at the checkpoint to Everest Base Camp.

For some unknown reason, we had to hand over our passports, yet again, to go pass the checkpoint to the Everest Base Camp.  This was the second checkpoint along the short and remote road from Rongbuk.

Then, the Chinese Military, in another example of their arbitrary, on the spot rule making, told us we couldn’t go more than 100 ft. beyond the checkpoint, and no, we could not walk beyond two large mounds about 30 feet tall and 200 feet wide with a small building atop that is just in front of us that would have allowed us to actually SEE the Base Camp.   No, not today.

The Chinese Police deleting images and confiscating a flag.

The other thing we were warned about is bringing any flag to pose with at the small monument for the Base Camp.  Apparently it’s a thing to do, and the Chinese Military don’t like it, for reasons that no one fully understands.   Well, as I stood there, a Chinese woman walked up to the small monument and posed with a red flag that had a bunch of Chinese writing on it.  Someone else photographed her.  Not good.

A military guard bolted from his tent and ran up to her, yanked the flag from her hands and grabbed the camera.  After much back and forth, the photographer was forced to delete the offending images.

As I stood there, watching this display and thinking about all the controls on our movements, I couldn’t help but think about all the Chinese who come to America and have free reign of the place.  No checkpoints (once in), no restrictions on holding a flag of their choice, no mindless and arbitrary controls over simple movements.  And most importantly, no sense of fear that if you mistakenly do the wrong thing that you’ll be incarcerated.

After leaving Base Camp, we then rode down to our campsite, the best one yet:  elevation 15,162’, but it feels like we dropped thousands of feet from the environment at Rongbuk.  The camp is along a stream, on a very small quite dirt road, and has a grassy flat area for us to settle for the night.   We got into camp early, so it’s a good laundry day.  There are clothes everywhere.

A long gradual climb.

June 2: Today we “only” rode 42 miles; however it was a real mixed bag.   The first portion was a fantastic 8 mile climb of about 2000’ topping out at 16,750’ on nicely packed dirt road with amazing views of the snow capped Himalaya’s.   I could have ridden that portion over again.  After that we had a rapid undulating downhill that taxed everyone’s bike handling skills.   I loved it.

Piles of rocks with meditation mantras carved into them appear in the most remote of places.

 

However, after lunch, we slogged down a “road” for 20 miles that followed – no was IN – the massive riverbed.  The surface was made of large worn river rocks and sand, resulting in 20 miles of rock pounding torture that followed the excellent first portion.  The only good thing was that we had a screaming tailwind.  At one point I stood up on my pedals and acted like a spinnaker letting the wind push me along, and it did at a pace that without the wind I would have been hard-pressed to match.  My arms felt like two pieces of overdone spaghetti from all the pounding.  I’m not sure I can lift a beer; though, I will certainly give it a try.

A lone stretch of road out of Tingri.

The rocky-riverbed road ended in the town of Tingri, where we rode on a paved surface for 8 miles to camp.   Tingri is known for it’s large quantity of mangy dogs.   Now THAT’S something to be known for!  There were dogs everywhere.  Before I left on this trip I read several resources that said the dogs in Tibet are wild, rabid, and mean.  Well, I can say – and not a great lover of dogs – that they may be wild, and they may be rabid, but they certainly are not mean.  On the contrary, they are afraid of their own shadow.  They skulk away from you way before you think you might need to make one get out of your way.   The only difference in Tingri is yes, they are mangy, and they are everywhere.  I never saw so many nasty looking dogs on one street.

June 3: The ride today was short (40 miles), and flat (as in dead).   However, I didn’t ride it.  Me and one other rider developed a case of “travelers tummy” in the night.  We ended going with the truck directly to camp where, once the tents were up, I immediately laid down.  I spent the morning and afternoon napping and running to the toilet tent.  Fortunately my bug was isolated to the lower intestine.

The women in Nepal are always dressed very nicely, wear jewelry, and look very smart.  Even if they are working in the gravel pits.  It’s quite a remarkable thing.   The men, however, don’t put the same effort in their appearance.

 

 

June 4:  Unfortunately I only rode one climb, and the one downhill.  Yesterday surviving on a half bowl of rice and some water did not give me the strength to do the second pass, and more importantly, did not give me what I needed for a 25 mile finish with a grueling headwind.

Lhasa to Kathmandu, 5/31, Cycling Day 11: Rongbuk: The worlds highest Monastery

Today’s distance was only 22 miles, and we only climbed 2000’; however, the road was dirt, rocks, and washboard.  We finished at the Rongbuk Monastary, which is at 16,400’.  We make camp here, so this will be our highest nigh sleeping on the trip. This campsite puts us 5 miles and 300 feet below Everest Base Camp.

Yak’s laden with gear heading to Everest Base Camp

The weather today was perfect, except when we were about 4 miles from camp, and we faced the legendary wind off Mt. Everest.  The ride was more than rewarded by our view of Everest from the campsite.  The mountain is often covered in clouds, and the group that was here in April were unfortunately, faced with an obscured Everest after that grueling ride. For us, the mountain was right in front of us in all its spectacular glory.  It’s truly an amazing sight.

Everest at sunset.

The camp however, is not great.  The wind coming down the valley from Everest collects speed and cold, and by the time it reaches us, it’s a steady 40+ mph that’s cold and relentless.  When outside, a down jacket is required even though the sun is painfully intense and harsh at 16,400’.  Going into the tent is no relief because the solar gain is collected inside the tent, which makes it at least 90 degrees or more inside.    Bake inside, freeze outside.  The only place of moderate temperature is the dining tent, which is where I write this.

Our camp, with spectacular views of Everest.

The Ronbuk Monastary sits behind our campsite.  It’s the highest monastery in the world, and is very much a working monastery.  These are some very dedicated monks.

A monk pouring hot water on the floor to then broom it clean. Their sleeping cots line the room.

After dinner several of us went to the restaurant to have a beer in the only such place that can claim to have a view of Mt. Everest.   It was my highest beer, at 16,400’.   Lhasa beer comes in large sizes, about the equivalent of two normal bottles.  We split one between the three of us.  Two small glasses of beer was plenty.  The room was heated with Yak Dung, so that smell mixed with clouds of cigarette smoke was almost too much to take after a while, so we braved our way back to the tents.

Everest at sunrise

Cycling Lhasa-Kathmandu, 5/30, Ride Day 10: Seeing Everest for the first time

Today we rode 50 miles, most of which was on a dirt road.  The climb was 17 miles, with a gain of 4,000’.  I never in my life saw so many switchbacks.  Ever. When we reached the summit our elevation was 16,980’.

The climb today was, in terms of distance, elevation gain, and total elevation not too far off yesterday, and today we rode on dirt.  But today was much easier and enjoyable.  Mostly due to the fact that there was almost no wind, my cold is about completely over, it was warm and sunny, and the scenery was far more interesting.

Then there was the downhill.   It was amazing, with more switchbacks then the uphill side as we descended 3500’ over 8 miles.

 A fantastic downhill ride.

All the while, during the downhill, we were blessed with a view of the Mt. Everest mountain range.  The sight was unbelievable, and it was difficult to keep an eye on the road with such a spectacular view right in your face.

Mt. Everest is one of the most spectacular natural scenes I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.  Superlatives do it no justice.

This is not the best view we had, just one of the first.  When we slept near the Base Camp, we had an amazing view of Everest that I’ll post later.

Tonight is another night camping.  Right behind our tent is a glacial stream with its aquamarine, frigid waters making a serpentine cut through the grassy sheep grazing pasture.   This is the view from my tent.

May 29, Ride Day 9: Cycling to 17,080 ft.

The ride today is only 45 miles, but we have our biggest climb yet, topping out at 17,080’. We camp today at 14,500’, our highest so far.

Today was one of the most difficult cycling days I’ve ever had.  There were several factors that made it hard.  First, I was just getting over a cold, and had yet to fully recover.  Second, we climbed 3600’; though, that in itself is not a big deal, but ending it at over 17,000’ made it hard.  The other two factors that made today difficult, was the headwind.  It was in our face the entire climb, and then there was the temperature:  it was cold, which puts more strain on your body, all things being equal.

Prayer flags at each pass.

Yikes…. we’re really up here!

 

The road up.

 

This father and son stuck their heads into our dining tent and wouldn’t leave.  Having a gold tooth (or two) is a Tibetan thing.

A gold tooth, and two earrings in each ear!

 

After this climb, I never thought I would consider going down to 14,500’ as a relief.  It’s warm in camp, and the sun is unbelievably strong.

 

May 27/28, Ride Day 7/8: The Buddha and The Waitress

May 27 – We’re camping at 14,000′ on another grassy plain.  Today was a pretty easy day, only about 60 miles, and pretty flat.

There is a house/”bar”/”restaurant” near our campsite, the only structure visible for miles.  We went inside and had a beer.  There was a monk chanting in a small room off the “bar” area.   The two young women who brought us beer, along with the Tibetan 2 oz beer glasses, stayed in the room continuing to refill our glasses, which, when you’re drinking out of such a small glass, happens frequently.   They then sat down, stared at us while laughing continuously.  We could only image what they were thinking.

I went back later to see if I could photo the two women who brought us our beer. I looked in on the monk and he motioned for me to sit next to him, he had been chanting and reading for quite some time.  I sat there and listened, then showed him my camera.  He was most interested.  I took several photos, and he couldn’t get enough of looking at himself on my camera.  I also convinced one of the women to have me take her photo – she was very shy, but finally she got into it!

May 28 – Today’s ride was only about 50 miles, with a 12-mile climb of 1,300 feet topping out at 14,800’.  We camp tonight at 13,500’.

The weather today was fantastic, warm, blue skies, almost no wind.  Though, sitting here now in my tent, it’s raining, and a wind has kicked up.  Everyone is praying for good weather tomorrow.

Just around cocktail time at camp we were surrounded by a hoard of children all 8-12 years old.  They were very interested in us, and particularly our cameras.   Posing for us was not a problem.  The boys were kicking the soccer ball, the girls were playing jump rope games that I remember seeing girls play when I was a kid.

Cycling Day 5: Of Yak Dung Walls, Yak Bling, and Interesting People

Today’s ride was flat.  No, I mean really flat.  We cycled 60 miles down the fertile river valley.    This stretch of road had the most interesting Yak Dung covered walls I’ve yet to see.  Truly works of art.

This guy looks like he’s cycling out of Las Vegas after a day at the slot machines.

This man was sitting on top of some bags of grain that were stacked on a small trailer pulled by a even smaller tractor which had a horrendous water leak coming from somewhere in the vicinity of the engine.  They would drive the tractor about 300 yards, stop, go to the irrigation ditch running along the road and fill up a bucket, pour it into the tractor, and do it again 300 yards later.  It was a very slow and painful process to watch.

This farmer was plowing his field, singing the whole time, and apparently thoroughly enjoying his work.   Can you imagine dressing up your farm animals any more than this?  It’s not as though these are animals in some tourist district posing for photographs.  They are working!  Further down the road I saw some Yak with Tibetan Prayer scarfs around their necks.  Very chic!

Cycling Day 4: Awakening to Snow

I now know why there was such a large military presence in Lhasa.  July is the 60th anniversary of the “liberation of Tibet from the oppression of the D.L.” (no Orwellian language there!)  Given that there was an uprising in 1998, I guess they are over preparing for the upcoming festivities.  No American or French visitors will be allowed into Tibet during July, except for a few special exceptions.  Apparently people from those countries are sympathetic to the D.L. and his cause (I can’t use the name because people who have, have had their internet access shut down).

We camped on the edge of a sheep-herding field, so I was expecting to wake up to sheep surrounding our tents. Instead, we woke up to snow. It was cold and blowing. The prospect of getting on a bike in this was not something I was looking forward to. Our guide agreed that it would be too dangerous, so we waited in the dining tent for a few hours. Once the snow stopped, we headed out. The ride was relatively easy, about 40 miles, and it turned into a pretty nice day, except for a bit of hail, and some rain, and, oh yes, a headwind that would have made my fellow Santa Fe riders take notice.

The people here have some of the most amazing looks.

This woman was very patient with me; though, I did have a very long lens, so I wasn’t in her face.  And quite a face it is.

At every pass there are prayer flags attached to everything and anything.  Also, cars that crest the pass will toss out small paper prayer flags (about 2″ square) that come floating down as the car speeds down the other side.

A (profile of a ) castle (not a monastery) in Gyantse, which like many small towns is completely torn up for the July festivities that accompany the 60th anniversary of the “liberation”.

Cycling Day 3: Cycling to 16,650’

Our ride today started at the campsite elevation of 15,000 ft. We cycled up to 16,650′, but from that starting point it’s relatively easy as long as you go slow and don’t try to turn it into a race. Riding up to that elevation was easier than getting off the bike once there and walking around. The climb was only 6 miles, and the overall ride was 48.

If you look to the left, you can see th road we came up.  Unlike hill climbs I’ve done in other places, you normally can’t see the upcomming pass when you’re climbing over a thousand feet.  Not in Tibet, you can see what’s ahead of you from the beginning of the climb, sometimes thousands of feet up.

These stairways to a higher plane are painted on the sides of rocks all along the roads.

Something tells me she does not know what her hat says.

Gotta do the daily prayer flag photo.

The arrangements of drying Yak dung bricks are works of art.  I’m sure Alison could figure out an installation with them!

The Chinese are fascinated by us.   I’ve had my picture taken a hundred times in just a few days.

Cycling Day 2: A Big Climb onto the Tibetan Plateau

[this is on a Chinese computer in a VERY seedy internet cafe, I'm the only person not smoking, and the the keyboard is anything but what I'm used to, so if spelling or punctuation is wrong, you'll know why... plus under the best of conditions, I'm a lousy speller... and its REALLY dark in here]

Our camp today was at the base of the day’s big climb, to get us over a pass and onto the Tibetan Plateau.  The climb was 17 miles and 4700 feet of climbing with a maximum altitude of 15,900 feet.  The total day was 50 miles, all the rest being mostly flat after the climb.   The Tibetan Plateau in the area of our riding is consistently around 14-15,000 feet, so that will be our base altitude for the next 10 days, with climbs taking us to 16 to 17,000 feet.

Today’s camp is on a large plain along the lake.  The wind is howling.  I hope the support crew hammered the stakes in securely or we’ll end up across the lake. 

We woke up to a bunch of Yak around our tents. They are very skittish animals, so the slightest movement sets them running. 

Speaking of Yak, the Tibetans like to use a lot of Yak Bling.

This is our toilet tent, there was not a lot around us.

Lhasa, day 3, acclimatization complete!

In Lhasa, the city police, military, security police, and several other uniformed, gun-toting officials makes for a very weird experience while walking around.  It’s impossible, and I mean absolutely impossible to walk for more than a few minutes without seeing groups of uniformed officers.  The military travel in groups of five, one carrying a rifle, one a fire extinguisher (presumably NOT to put out fires).  Others travel in larger or smaller groups.  There are armed guards in front of every official-looking building, of which there are many.   And tonight I saw 20 police with full riot gear: shields, helmets, and batons.  A riot in Lhasa?

Today I was cycling over a bridge and stopped in a pedestrian pull-out area to take this innocuous photo of the snow-capped mountains down river.  An army guard appeared out of nowhere and started yelling at me (in Chinese) and pointing to my camera.  Apparently there is a restriction on taking photos of mountains from bridges, I guess. Anyway, it’s all very creepy.

There is a Muslim section of Lhasa with all the butcher shops.  Apparently Buddhists don’t approve of the killing of animals, so that job is relegated to the Muslims.

Look closely, not a great photo, but I had to shoot fast.  Lhasa is filled with people riding bicycle carts selling or carrying every imaginable item.  But selling goldfish?  Now that’s original.

We visited Braille Without Borders for a tour of their small school.  It’s quite an amazing story of how a blind German woman traveled to Tibet in the 80’s by herself to set up a school for blind kids.  In Tibet, and China, blindness was, and in many rural areas still is considered a curse.  Children were often locked in their rooms or worse, tied to their beds.  Our guide, as a child, was not allowed even to dress herself because her parents said she was not capable.  The are not allowed to attend school with sighted kids even to this day in rural villages.  This charity helps educate them, and it’s quite a moving experience to see.  This little girl sang a song for us in an amazingly strong voice for such a small person.

The wall behind the Potala Palace has over a thousand prayer wheels.  This line of wheels goes on and on and on with a constant stream of people praying and spinning.

The front of Potala Palace

These girls were singing songs and tamping down the dirt floor. They invited us to participate.  I’m not sure how efficient it was, but it certainly made for good theater.

Now I expected to see a lot of prayer flags in Tibet, but the shear quantity in this spot was something.  These flags are over a spillway that connected to the Lhasa River.  I’m sure there is some significance to this spot, but we couldn’t figure it out.

Lhasa, Tibet

Lhasa couldn’t be more different than Kathmandu.  The major roadways are new and clean of litter.  The vehicles follow the speed limit with a frightening obedience.  Actually, the best I can figure, everyone constantly follows all the rules with strict compliance.  And unlike India (or Belgium) where there are lots of rules but no enforcement or adherence, in China there are even more rules, and everyone follows them, always.  It’s like being in a giant ant colony.

We went to the Potala Palace today.  It’s an amazing place in size and grandeur.  You can only visit it with a guide, and then only after making a pre-arranged appointment.  You get a 60-minute time slot, and if you are a few minutes late, you forfeit your time.  We had to hand over our passport to our guide for the duration of the trip, and were only given it back at the end of the tour.

The view from my hotel room.

Once inside there are no photographs, one can not wear sun glasses (even though who would want to given how dark it is), no hats (I asked why no sunglasses and hats, and the guide said it was because Buddhism didn’t allow it… now I’m no student of Buddhism, but really?), no water (but you could buy some after you when through an airport-like screening).  We were told by our guide to not ask too many questions because he would not want to be slowed down because the security police would constantly be telling us to move along (which they were).  He told us to not talk about politics, or heaven forbid we mention The D.L. #14 by name, you know, the one that if I put his name in this post my Internet access will most likely be shut down.

All that aside, it was worth the visit.  The palace is more than just a museum.  There are a lot of tourists, but there are just as many people there to pray, add Yak butter to the massive candles that are everywhere; there is chanting, and incense burning.  It’s a very special place, but unfortunately, the Chinese make sure you enjoy it as little as possible.

Pilgrims prostrating as they approach the palace.  This is a very painful looking experience.