Tibetan Church Camp

My trek to China's largest lake (what Chinese used to call the West Sea) ended up providing more adventure than just compelling scenery. On my long and winding bus ride through rolling grasslands with nomads perched every step of the 300km way (that's approximately 200 miles for you United Statesians) and sheep dotting the fields like cotton balls on a golf green, I met some young folks that were heading to the same stop as I but with an altogether different purpose - they sought Tibetan festivities. Now for a guy who's just been coldheartedly rejected from such a place, this is welcome news and I was not disappointed as my planned two-day trip quickly extended into four.


Stepping off the bus, the air was uniquely un-Chinese. Perhaps it was the people milling to and fro, browned from years under the sun and bundled up in their full-length wool-lined robes, wrapped around them in fine hobbit fashion and secured firmly in the back with a colored sash. Perhaps it was the "Oh-ma-na-ay"s flowing down from the monastery on the hill as the monks carried on their daily prayers. Or perhaps it was the simply fact that the air really was un-Chinese, far from the industrial revolution at work here and as blue as I've seen since the government shot rockets at the permanent inversion that is Beijing. But mostly I think it was the yak.


Niao Dao (aka: Bird Island), where I now found myself, is unquestionably an agriculture based community with creatures roaming freely around and in the city. The occasional herd of sheep would maraud through the streets, leaving behind a wake of defecation that locals gathered up to feed their ever-glowing stoves. But my favorite was the yak. I awoke one morning to one of these long-haired cow cousins munching outside my "homestay" door. Thankfully, they aren't known for their temper - after all, how could they get all of that yak butter out of them, if they were? And Tibetans do love their yak butter. They even make yak butter sculptures, appearing more like culturally supreme cheeses than your lowly block of margarine.

Another beautiful aspect of yak in Niao Dao is breakfast, a grainy mixture composed of yak butter, yak milk tea, milk powder, a powdered grain, and lots of sugar. They throw it all together in a small bowl and then go about mixing them together in a clockwise motion, cupping the top so as not to spill (unless you're me mixing over someone's bed, oops). After about 50 times around in the bowl, they end up with a substance reminiscent of Play-doh in consistency, but much better tasting. And that is breakfast. Everyday.

What I stumbled upon in my good fortune was a week-long Tibetan Buddhism church camp, if I can call it that. People came from miles around, set up their tents as they pleased on the grassland, and trudged up to the monastery each morning, noon, and night for prayers led by a head lama who had come especially for this event. I must admit, I fear that attention shifted from this man center-stage to myself entering the side-door. Throughout what felt like a cold warehouse, people sat on their homemade cushions, swinging their prayer maracas and thumbing through their prayer beads involuntarily, their hands having memorized every bead after years of faithful prayers. The hands continued as always but all eyes turned in my direction at the crash of the aluminum doors behind me, their eyes as wide as my sheepish grin. The monks were very welcoming and encouraged me to take photos and the locals themselves were quick to offer me a seat on their cushions as they continued their "Oohming" amidst an occasional chorus of "Whoops". Their faces were curious and inviting, shy to the camera, yet a people quick to smooth out their robes and check their posture when the lens was upon them. Beautiful faces. Gentle faces. Even those of the elder women, any of whom at first glance might easily be cast to play the part of creepy witch lady in any given movie. They all wear their hair in braids the size of half of my pinky and look like they haven't washed it in years - which is probably not far from accurate. But their gracious spirits shine through the movie stereotypes and we exchange smiles, theirs almost as wide as my mine.

After the church camp was over, they rounded off their gathering with some great horseracing, traditional dances, and, something I will never understand, lip/instrumental synched performances. On the banks of the largest lake in China, individuals would come out bearing guitars or mandolins and then, courtesy of the monks sound system, the monk DJ would pump up the Tibetan jams and they would mouth all the words and pluck away at their NOT amplified instruments - and, oh, how the people would clap! The horse races were a highlight as the hundred or so men got pumped up by riding around in a circle, hooting and hollering, throwing Buddhist paper prayers in the air as confetti, and flying their Tibetan prayer flags high. If it weren't for my extreme horse allergy, I'm sure I would have commandeered myself a stallion and shown them what we Western cowboys are made of. Though, I admit, I did willfully abstain from the brawl that broke out at the end for good measure.

Aside from the beauty of the religious community and festivities, I managed to escape to the wilderness refuge of Qinghai one day, hitching a ride on a local motorcycle. This refuge boasts Bird Island, one of the most famous breeding grounds and migratory stops for various kinds of birds in China (stop drooling, Hille). Those seasons have come and gone; however, I was far from disappointed. What I found instead was a geographic treat, where rocky outcroppings jutted out from the turquoise lake, this lapping at the edge of the grasslands which rolled down into the golden desert, the waves of sand rising in the distance from those of turquoise. Wow. I can't wait to be able to download my photos here, as my words don't do Him justice.

The highlight for me was coming back that evening and walking out into the fields that surround the community. I came across a Tibetan family of three, scythes in hand, reaping their harvest in the field. The father chatted with me for a bit, through intermittent swaths of his blade and translations for his wife and daughter, neither of whom speak Mandarin. Pretty soon, I picked up the girl's scythe, as she was binding the stalks together, and I tried my hand at the harvest. They make it look so easy, one fluid swinging motion and they have a handful of stalks. For me, it was a barrage of inaccurate hacks and a flutter of greenery in every which way. But little by little I got the hang of it - and a blister to boot. As casual conversation, what I imagine would be the case for many Buddhists, he asked if I was Buddhist and was surprised that I was not. I shared a little bit about the one God who created the mountains and fields and blue skies that surrounded us. He said he'd never heard about this God or Jesus. In our broken Mandarin, as it is not his native tongue either, we talked about God and Buddhism and Jesus and creation and the Dalai Lhama, and it impressed me deeply as I saw him gesture with his finger and a swoop of his hand about one God who made all of creation, as this man translated into Tibetan for his wife and daughter these simple truths. How foreign these ideas must seem to someone who has only known Buddhism all his life! Yet, for a man who gains his very livlihood from the good earth, I wonder how entirely foreign the God of creation is.

Tibet is far from free!

Things are not going as expected. Then again, as I'm in China, I suppose that's to be expected.

I was fortunate to get a train ticket to Tibet on my thrid attempt AND going two hours before tickets were officially on sale. And I guess I was forunate to even get on the train. The unfortunate part about it is that it wasn't until 24 hours into my trip - and only halfway to Lhasa - that the train police decided to tell me that I needed a special travel permit just to get into Lhasa. So they told me to get my bags ready cause I would be getting off at the next stop. My five local bunkmates/80point partners (the longest Rook-like card game ever) were quick to jump to my defense that the train station shouldn't have sold me the ticket without telling me about the regulation. Nor should they have let me on the train without checking for a permit. But they did. And there I was, 24 hours away from home and 24 hours away from my destination. Boo.

After they kicked me off the train, I quickly made friends with the local train police and they made a few phone calls. We call this "guanxi". It's what greases the wheels in China and gets things done - unfortunately for me, it just doesn't get things done cheaply. That is to say, we got in touch with a place that would process a Tibet visa for me immediately; unfortunately, courtesy of the government regulation that all foreign travelers must do so by themselves and hire a car, driver, and tour guide for the entire length of their stay in Tibet, it would cost me one limb too many to make the trek. And so my Tibetan dreams have died. And I conclude that Tibet is far from free; rather it's about $800 overpriced.

Fortunately, I find myself here in the middle of nowhere, which isn't a bad place at all to be. It is beautiful country with naturally steeped mountains that make me ponder if God didn't put this part of the world together using one of those 3-D puzzle sets. I made it to a beautiful Tibetan Buddhist monastery today (next best thing to one actually in Tibet) and was pleased to chat with a few monks, exchange e-mail info (21st century monks!), and play pool with some Muslim kids. The lamb kebobs here are plentiful, though given the bathroom conditions, I'm kind of dreading when that plentifulness makes it through my system.

Tomorrow I'll be heading on a two-day trek to the supposed largest freshwater lake in China - Qinghai Lake - so I'll keep you posted on that and more adventures to follow!