October 29th, 2009 Back in Nepal Ma timilai maya garchu

Remember my friend Mahesh? On the taxi ride back

from the Bouddhanath I suddenly asked him to become my business partner for a business I had just created in the car.

He accepted my proposal and now we were going to spend my last two weeks in Nepal ironing out the details. As I settled

into a tiny room at the Hotel Buddha in Kathmandu, Mahesh told me that we had been invited to stay with his family in his village and that they were expecting us there the next day in time for the last day of a big festival. It was only 140 km away so I figured it would be a nice little road trip. Traveling on rough roads the last five days in a landcruiser had taken it’s toll and I was ready for a break. Early the next morning he dragged me to a bus station in a seedy part of town. We got the last two seats on a mini bus and started zigzagging our way across the city picking up and dropping off passengers along the way. Three hours later we finally got to the outskirts of the city. Not the quickest way across town. The entire trip was Six hours long and the only potty breaks were fit for men willing to pee over a cliff. Finally we were there, or so I thought. As I gathered my belongings and squeezed in a stretch, Mahesh asked if I would prefer to walk to his village or hitch a ride. Far too casually

he informed me that it would be a two day walk but if we hitch it will only take nine hours. Since my jaw was still dropping he grabbed

my stuff and threw it onto the back of a large pick up truck. Before I knew it someone reached out for my hand and pulled me up as well, pitching me onto a 40 lb bag of rice. Fortunately, I’ve been on this gratitude kick. So I started thinking about all the positives. It was a beautiful warm day and we were in the foothills of the Himalayas,

I had a full bottle of water with me and the rice bags were actually kind of

comfortable. Suddenly I was filled with warm fuzzy visions of me sprawled out on rice bags

taking a nine hour nap as we wind our way up through the endless green rice fields and lush tropical forests. There were three other travelers and I could imagine our laughter as we bonded on the road sharing a coconut or a bowl of rice. About 5 seconds later the fantasy began to fade when 11 more people climbed aboard.

Then came 4 baskets of pigeons, 3 red plastic chairs, a crate of cheesy crackers, 24 more people, and a large Winnie the

Pooh bag. While I wedged myself into a crack on the hard floor between two rice bags, several men hoisted two large 60 gallon barrels of oil onto the back of the truck. Now we were ready to go. The next nine hours were breathtaking for two reasons. One because it is very difficult to breathe when you are sharing a small space with 39 other people, two, because it was the most scenic ride I had ever been on. We traveled up a narrow stream winding our way up a mountainside with stunning views of Mt Everest

and the entire Himalayan range. Much of the time was spent avoiding large boulders in the middle of the stream or trying not to fling ourselves over the edge of the precarious cliffs we clung to. When darkness fell a little girl worked her way over to my lap and fell asleep on top of me. Every muscle in my body ached but I didn’t care. I was happy.

By the time we arrived it was 11:30 pm and most of the passengers had departed earlier on the route. Mahesh’s older brother, Ambar, met us for the 45 minute walk to their home.

As we made our way across the rocky terrain in the dark, Ambar focused

his flashlight in front of my every step, grabbing my arm whenever I stumbled.

This is where the story gets interesting.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of farm animals. I was sleeping in a clay room with two single beds. A light beam filtered through one of the shutters illuminating dozens of hindu images and gurus taped to the walls. I wiggled into my kurtha (typical nepali dress) and climbed down the ladder in search of a toilet. What awaited me was an incredible surprise. The house was set in the middle of the Himalayan jungle with thousands

of acres of green rice fields waving in the breeze. A cow and a buffalo stood next to me along with a few goats and chickens. We were surrounded by papaya and orange and grapefruit trees. Mahesh’s mother and sisters waited on me nonstop, not allowing me to lift a finger. I was fed raw buffalo milk and fresh yogurt with uncooked rice with sweet milk tea. Yum. I wanted to take a shower so we made our way down these beautiful stone paths to the public shower about 10 minutes away. The shower was just a stone platform where water shot out of the side of the hill. There were two side by side so Mahesh took one and I took the other. No modesty allowed here. Trying to be discreet I showered with a skirt wrapped around me. It wasn’t easy. When I asked Mahesh to show me around his village he looked concerned. What I didn’t realize is that his village was an entire mountain. I’m not talking about a little tiny Los Angeles mountain either. I mean a vast Himalayan mountain. His family consists of around 3000 relatives and it is their mountain. Nepal still lives under the caste system and Mahesh is from the highest caste. There couldn’t possibly be any more surprises, right?

I spent a week in this Nepali paradise. The kitchen was a clay room with a couple of fires on the floor in each corner. To clean the floor, his sister would take a handful of cow poop and roll it across the ground, picking up stray rice kernels. Then, without washing her hands she would make us lunch or dinner, which was always dal bhat. There was no electricity, so when the sun went down we would all hang out on the porch for a bit, listening to Hindu radio by candlelight. Every night, before Mahesh went to bed, he would wrap a scarf around

my head to keep me warm. Even in the middle of the night he would check on me to make sure the scarf was still there. Sometimes he would randomly bite my cheek and when I screamed he would just

walk away with a smile saying “too bad, that’s just my loving style!” His oldest sister never ever stopped smiling and all of his family treated me like a princess. One day his mother planned a special hike for me up to the top of the mountain where there was a sacred water fall and temple. One at a time we walked through the water fall then went to the temple to pray. The hike took all day and on the way down I slipped and fell, landing in a small ditch rolled up in a ball. We laughed so hard I had tears in my eyes. Every time I thought about it I would burst out laughing. I felt like such an idiot!

Throughout the week, whenever we passed one of his aunts, they would start smiling and dancing. I kept asking Mahesh what they were saying but he would just smile and say “don’t worry”. Well, i’ve never been one to take “don’t worry” sitting down.

I finally persuaded him to spill the beans. Turns out I was a bit more than just his ‘business partner’. Apparently, the only possible reason a young man would bring a girl home to meet his family is if she is his fiance. Yep. The Aunts were all saying “When do we get to go to your wedding and dance?” Remember all that talk about wanting to marry a simple girl from the village? All that anti ‘love’ marriage talk? Turns out Mahesh had fallen in love and his family was busy planning our upcoming wedding! Unbeknownst to me I was engaged to a skinny nepali boy. I tried explaining that I'm a complicated city girl..."you really don't want to marry me...really plus I have three kids from three different dads!" He just kept insisting that I leave my past behind (as if I was ashamed of it) and start a new life with him in the village. We could have lots of babies and eat rice forever...

Oct 28th, 2009

My escape from Tibet was a success! Last night I found a nice inexpensive hotel room for 50 yuan with a toilet and a shower. I checked in at 6 and at that time there were a couple dozen construction workers whittling away on the mountainside next door with jack hammers. I jokingly asked the chinese clerk if the noise would cost extra. She just smiled. I mistakenly assumed that the noise would end at dark. I was wrong. When the sun went down massive floodlights went up and the beat of the jackhammer continued well into the slumber hours. In spite of the noise there was such a lovely view of the Himalayan foothills and I was so happy to be somewhere warm and green that I didn’t even mind having to stand in the toilet while I took a shower.

9 am next morning all of us foreigners lined up at immigration for the interrogation. The Chinese go through everything looking for photos of the Dalai Lama or foreign ‘propaganda.’ Wondering if I had anything to be concerned about I suddenly remembered the article my friend from Human Rights Watch had given me in Hong Kong. It documented the tragedy in Tiananmen square and was titled something fairly incriminating like “How Beijing totally slaughtered innocent people and why it was a serious human rights violation” It was more eloquent but that was the gist of it. Since I didn’t want to visit a Chinese prison, I slowly, casually, nonchalantly rifled through my bags until I found the article. Then, in the most un casual manner you could imagine I whipped it out and folded it awkwardly, trying to stuff it into the tiny pocket in my jacket. Every single Chinese person within a one mile radius was staring at me as I half walked half sprinted toward the bridge and placed this big wad of crumpled blasphemy on the railing. There was just no way to be cool about it so I just stared at it for a minute then with my middle finger I flicked it off the edge Slowly, so slowly it drifted downward, toward the river 30 feet below and then, yes this part is true, the wind lifted it back up to me as the pages unfolded themselves revealing the words Beijing-Human Rights Violations” In the largest font I have ever seen. And then there it sat, on the ground right next to my left foot. All I could do was go back into the line and wait. Even if no one noticed my completely clutzy bungling, I was still at risk of being detained. Photos of any Chinese government outpost or military was strictly forbidden and I had both in my camera and on my laptop.

Mt Everest 17,060 ft

I am writing this in a small chinese restaurant in Tibet on the border. I have been freezing my tail off at base camp (literally now that I think about it since I had to pee outside in a hole in temperatures reaching well below zero and high winds).

At Mt. Everest, I spent two nights in Rongphu monastery, the highest Monastery in the world. The windows were broken out and there was no toilet. I slept in 6 layers of clothes and 5 jackets and wore it all during the days too. The only place to find any warmth was the teahouse so it was usually packed with climbers and guides. I spent much of my time huddled around the stove in the center of the room watching tibetan women stoke the fire with buckets full of dried yak dung. As the fire roared we all shared sweet milk tea (alas!) and one guy passed around a dried yak leg with a nine inch dagger to carve the meat off with.

We left Everest this morning, and although it is only maybe 60 miles

to the border, it took us 10 hours. The first half of the trip we did some pretty extreme cliffhanger four wheeling across the barren Tibetan plateau. The terrain was unbelievable. I am convinced this is what it w

ould be like to go off roading on the moon except with some pretty high peaks. You can just feel that you are on the 'rooftop of the world.'

We eventually made it to the "Friendship highway" You gotta love the Chinese and the way they name things. It's the ultimate propaganda. Friendship Highway. Because we are all such good friends...that's why we took over your country and built this lovely highway... We stopped for food in a small town where of course I wandered off again. I found Duncan a fuzzy hat, nothing super amazing but the only one I had found so far. I've seen lots of men wearing them, but never saw them for sale. I considered buying one off of some random Tibetan guy, but then I remembered their bathing habits. I've been told that the men typically only bathe once a year. There is a special day set aside during the spring but a lot of men will just skip it unless something really important is coming up like their wedding.

Tibetans have really coarse, thick black hair which gets a little unruly after a year or so of no baths, To control it they rub yak butter in it. That is the point that occurred to me when I decided against buying Duncan a used fuzzy hat. Anyway, after making my purchase from a muslim Tibetan I found a pretty scraggly looking guy and pulled him off the street for a photo session. He laughed but I just tugged on his sleeve and pointed over to a shady wall, signaling to his friend to come as well. Sometimes acting like a deranged foreigner is the best tool I have. Before I knew it nine or ten people were lining up for their photos. Then I grabbed another guy and put my camera around his neck for a group photo with all of us. It was blurry because I forgot to set it on auto focus for him but I still like it. After thanking everyone I happily, cheerfully rode along the friendship highway toward the border. Out of the blue my 23

year old guide, Kalsong, turned to me with the sweetest smile and said, "you always make me happy." Aww, that kinda melted me. All of my guides have literally been the sweetest most pure hearted humans I have ever met. He has pretty bad acne and one day he just came to me pointing at his face and said "What is this?" I said "acne" He said "why I have? Because something I eat? Do I have disease?" I explained to him that he will grow out of it, no diseases, just wash your face often, etc.. He leaned back, took a deep sigh of relief and said "Then I will get girlfriend." He sends a lot of his money back to his village which is a 2 day bus ride from Lhasa. He says he really misses his mom. He also asked me to send him an email. He put his hand on his heart, looked me straight in the eye and said "no really, I want this most in the world."

Around 2:00 we got to the border. Rewind. We got to the Friendship bridge, 2 kilometers from the border town. That's when all traffic was halted for four hours. Turns out what they meant by friendship bridge, is that everyone parks their car and hangs out for four hours while chinese immigrants slowly build the bridge with a shovel and hammer.

In fact they do this so often that the Chinese actually have a concession stand tent right there in the middle of the Himalayas just for all of our friendly gatherings. It was actually kind of fun. I took some pix, hung out with Kalsong and Cowboy, and for the first time peed under a semi truck. Cowboy is my nickname for our driver. He looks like a cowboy and I could never remember his name. He doesn't speak a word of english but sings english loves songs perfectly. The great thing is he answers to Cowboy now. All the guides hang out at base camp and run into each other throughout the trip so they've all heard me call him that plus I think he's pretty proud of it.

Dreaming of burgers...

Saturday October 24th

I left Lhasa this morning and began the 5 day journey back to Nepal. We made a quick stop at the banks of the Yarlung Tsangpo river, the highest major river in the world. Several axes and knives were sitting on a bluff indicating that this is the site where they do water burials. Similar to a sky burial, a monk chops the body up and throws it to the fish. My guide, Kalsong, has witnessed three sky burials including his father and grandfather.

I don’t normally get excited about Mountains or lakes, but we stopped to view Yamdrok-tso, the most beautiful lake I have ever seen. The water was crystal clear and a deep deep blue. The backdrop was Mt Nojin Kangstang a 23,590 foot high snow capped mountain peak. I walked along the shore for a bit and collected some beautiful white rocks. After visiting Samding Monastery we drove to Gyantse. I did a kora around the perimeter of the Pelkor Chode monastery, but decided to forego another monastery visit in exchange for wandering through the backstreets of the town. I met an old woman who invited me into her house. These houses are truly out

of the 14th century. It looks and feels like living in a stone barn and part of the main room/kitchen has no roof.

There were several kids inside so I took pictures of them all and let them play with my camera. It was getting pretty chilly so I left in search of a teahouse for some warmth then raced the sunset to get pix of the Gyantse Dzong, a 14th century fort which now houses an anti-British Imperialists Museum. While shooting, three very grubby children approached me for money. I don’t normally give money to child street beggars because often times the kids are just being exploited and rarely see any of the money themselves, but we were out in the middle of nowhere and they just didn’t seem quite as shrewd. I gave them a few Yuan and took their photos before leaving.

Later that night I bought some socks and groceries and took the 30 minute walk back out of town to see if I could find them. The majority of the walk was down a dark deserted road and I was freezing. The only light was from the stars which I used to find the area where I had last seen them.

I could barely see but I just kept going deeper into this field trying to listen for their voices. Finally I thought I saw the shadowy outline of a small tent. I noticed a small orange glow as I slowly approached it calling “Hello, Tashi delek” I don’t know why I wasn’t scared but I felt completely peaceful. It was eerily quiet

and no one said anything until I poked my head in the doorway but when they saw it was me they immediately smiled and invited me in to sit on the floor with them and keep warm by the small wood cooking stove. I took in my surroundings as I climbed over everyone and sat on the dirt. The three kids were there with their mother and father and grandmother. They all lived in a tent no bigger then 6x9 feet. It had a dirt floor and I could see very little bedding. There was no food either. I started handing out the groceries and with each item the kids looked so happy and the parents clasped their hands together and bowed gratefully. Everyone had huge smiles on their faces. We all took turns taking photos with my small camera and playing them back for each other while the littlest guy just kept giving me big fat juicy kisses over and over again.

Now I am lying in a warm bed with a full belly and I can’t sleep. I just wish I would have done more. Sure, I can barely pay my own bills, but I have so much and they they need so little. One of my smallest bills, say a couple hundred dollars for car insurance, could change the trajectory of their lives forever.

Wednesday, Oct 21st Shing tsa chukor Shang

Woke up this morning with a pretty hefty case of allergies due the constant inhalation of dust, tibetan incense, and black exhaust from the tractor trailers used to pull everything from potatoes to skinned pigs. I dragged myself out of bed and met my guide and driver in front of the hotel. They took me to a village approximately 40 kilometers out of Lhasa, called Shing tsa chukor Shang. The villagers had been rebuilding a home of one of the families for over 70 years. Fifteen to twenty people milled about carrying rock and mud

in baskets on their backs, building walls. I was immediately invited in for some yummy Yak butter tea. I played with a little boy around Charlie’s age while my thoughtful host refilled my cup after every fake sip. As my cup over floweth, spilling onto my only clean pair of pants, her husband had the brilliant idea of bringing out the chang, aka home brewed Tibetan barley beer.

I stared at the milky yellow liquid in my glass wondering what exactly it was that I was about to poison myself with and how I was going to avoid it, when my host helpfully picked the glass up and put it to my lips. “Umm, delicious, wow.” I said as I took a micro sip of this hardy intoxicant. Sure enough after every sip came a swift refill. Surprisingly the Yak butter tea was beginning to call my name so I used it as an excuse to set aside the rest of the beer. In my haste to switch to my preferred venom I didn’t see the huge fly swimming in the cup until after it was in my stomach.

Maybe it was the alcohol but my reaction was a tad bit slow. The visit lasted about an hour then I went outside and offered to help build the house. I figured after 70 years they could use an extra hand and since I didn’t die from the

contaminants I had just ingested, I was feeling particularly robust. Before I could say “ Shing tsa chukor Shang” I found myself standing in a large mud pit with a basket strapped to my back. An old lady began shoveling huge shovelfuls of mud into my basket. I began to sink into the mud with every thud and was starting to lose my brawny self image. Slowly I barely climbed out of the pit and walked into the compound where everyone had a good chuckle. After dumping my load an eager gentleman came running out of the kitchen with a newly overflowing glass of Barley beer. Yea. We toasted to my accomplishment while the whole gang watched and cheered me on. I really thought they were just excited about my amazing mud slinging abilities but it turns out they were cheering me on with the expectation that I would guzzle my beer. Every last drop. And so I continued taking sips thinking eventually they will get bored and get on with their house building and leave me alone. I was wrong. As expected, the glass continued to refill itself and the crowd grew bigger and louder until at last, with one fail swoop I guzzled that darned glass of unknown toxic origins. The women came running over with the traditional white scarf, kha tak, wrapping it around me. This is a way of showing respect to a visitor and I felt honored and a bit tipsy.

Next we stopped at Sang po monastery in a small town called Dechan. Throughout the past

week I had noticed an abundance of pool tables throughout Tibet. In a land where the women do all the work, and the men sit around playing card games and dominoes, pool had become a national sport. Dechan was no different. I casually approached a small group of pool hustlers and asked if I could give it a shot. Though my offer came as a tremendous surprise, I was handed a cue and we let the games begin. Five or six bewildered men stood watching and laughing, commenting (as I found out later from my translator) about how they have never seen or heard of a lady playing pool and what a horrible act of treason and a blow to all of Tibet it would be to lose against a woman. They said “If you lose to a girl, we will all be shamed.” Of course I had no idea all this dialogue was going on, I was just happily playing pool having no clue that all of Tibet’s masculinity was on the line. Don’t ask how, but somehow I won the first game! By now a crowd of 50 or 60 people had gathered around so I thought it prudent to keep my utter and complete joy over my triumphant win to myself as the men stood in shock and sent for their best player. Out of a nearby tea house, swaggering and exuding Tibet’s finest testosterone fueled machismo, came my new competitor. The crowd was silent as a few scragglers from the town came

running over pushing toward the front. Even the women came, experiencing their first example of women’s liberation. “A woman playing pool? Gasp! Shouldn’t she be tending the fields, sweeping dirt, cooking and raising the children? Gasp again!” Wild cheering broke out as Clint Eastwood got first one, then two solids in the hole. When it was my turn you could hear a pin drop, and whenever I got one of those little striped balls in the hole the whole town groaned with dread and awe. Soon he was down to one ball to my five. Yes! Tibet shall triumph! So he tried and he tried to get that last ball in while my little striped guys were disappearing one by one. And then, OOPS! I won again. Growing up in Kansas was really starting to pay off. By now they had sent for the original Clint Eastwood, Kublai Khan, ruler of the billiard Dynasty. Now the comments shifted to “Whoever wins will be the new champion and we shall honor him all of our days” I felt like I was in a movie; spaghetti western music swirling through my head, guns loaded, cowboy hats lowered, eyes squinting...

We were tied til the very end, when suddenly and victoriously he sunk that last ball, the eight ball, the one that pulled all of Tibet out of it’s slump and back into it’s rightful place in history, a conquest that would keep the women from ever doubting their men for centuries to come. They began to cheer “This is TIBET!”

Tuesday, Oct 20th, 2009

I wanted to meet some people from the outlying villages so I found a guide and headed out of town for the day. Unfortunately the villages were for the most part empty. In an attempt to appease the Tibetans, the Chinese Government started giving them jobs after last year’s rebellion. This way they would be too tired and too dependent on the chinese to put up a fuss. I bought a couple of cups from the cup seller pushing his cart around in a village called Tho lung. He and the small group of people clamoring to buy cups were the only ones around. It made me wonder, where had all their old cups gone and was this a good business to get into? It seemed a tad bit limited but, then again, what do I know about the cup business?

Later we stumbled upon a village called Qu Mo Lung. It felt like a ghost town until we walked by the tea house. Inside I found dozens of old men and women playing cards and Tibetan board games drinking Yak butter tea and laughing raucously all the while hawking and spitting phlegm (as they do so well in asia, more on that later). I ordered sweet tea then merrily guzzled a surprise cup of yak butter tea again. I took a few photos which caused a certain amount of mayhem as they playfully teased each other. Soon it turned into a game. I would sneak a photo of someone at their request and the whole tea house would shake with laughter. I love old people! They have a certain gleam in their eye as well as a sweetness and a beautiful innocence. I truly had a wonderful time.

Monday, Oct 19th, 2009

Doug decided to take my friend Greg and I out to a monastery called Drigung til. It was 1000 feet higher than Lhasa and I was just beginning to acclimate. I made the mistake of agreeing to a hike up behind the monastery in hopes of witnessing a Sky Burial. A sky burial, or jhator, is when the deceased is taken to a mountaintop to be eaten by vultures. The ground is very hard in Tibet so it is impractical to bury the dead. Also, as Buddhists they feel they are providing food to sustain living beings. Fortunately I was unable to make it all the way to the top. Altitude is a funny thing. Every step felt like my last. I was well rested but my body just kept saying “no”. I headed back down the mountainside and got lost a bunch of times finding myself in all sorts of places that normally only the monks are allowed. They seemed to love the company though. When I finally made my way back to the entrance I walked into the kitchen and hung out with some young men who were cooking or watching Tibetan music videos. English is rarely spoken here so it has been very challenging to communicate. My camera screen opens a lot of doors though. We sat around taking photos of each other after I showed some of them how to use my cameras. Hoping they would make me some food, I tried telling them I was hungry. I thought rubbing the tummy in a circular motion was a universal language, understood in every corner of the world. Well in Tibet it just gets a very confused look and a tilt of the head. I even lifted the lids of the pots where the noodles were cooking and pointed to the noodles and then my mouth. How difficult could this be? Fortunately I could order sweet tea properly. “Cha ngamo please”, got me a nice hot cup of bitter yak butter tea. Eventually one of the guys ran to get an english grammar book which wasn’t particularly helpful since the Tibetan word was always written in Tibetan script. At least I was able to give them english lessons which was a lot of fun. The hard part was watching them eat their noodles while I drooled.

Next we drove 30 minutes away to Tidrum, a nunnery just over 14,000 feet high, with magical healing mineral hot springs. This place was absolutely incredible! We got there just as the sun was setting, so too late for any good pix. The whole thing looked like a movie set. It just didn’t seem real. I ate some rice with yak bone. I think there was supposed to be some meat on it but I couldn’t find any. The hot springs were right in the middle of the compound. The men’s and women’s side were only separated by a 3 1/2 ft wall with one shared light bulb. It was very dark and shadowy, but if you really wanted to you could see the other side. So the only thing that really separated us was the darkness. I undressed and put my stuff in a wooden cubby then climbed into the hottest water I have ever felt. I found a comfy spot near the center of the spring which was probably about 30 feet in diameter. As I settled in I began to notice a low grumbling-chanting sort of noise. It was then that I became aware of the fact that I was sitting right in the middle of some sort of naked prayer procession. Naked women groping their way through the dark, stumbling over

rocks, and me, chanting prayers. At this point I just became another obstacle to grapple with and found myself holding the hands of all of my bare breasted sisters, one at a time, under the brightest stars I have ever seen. I was awash in tranquility with my newly acquired sisterhood, that is right up until the fat lady next to me pulled out of the depths of her innards a gelatinous loogy so thick and so large it made a small cannonball splash when she deposited it in the little teeny tiny bit of water between us. I felt so betrayed! I thought we had something special here and your spitting on me? In our bathtub? It was time to get out and back at the cubbies a very helpful young lady pointed her flashlight at me exposing my nakedness in all its glory. A few men stood nearby checking out the ladies but nobody seemed to mind except maybe me. I managed to get my clothes back on as several more very helpful young girls assisted me with their flashlights.

TIBET October 15th, 2009, Lhasa

Footnote:

Dear Chinese Government, I don’t mean to criticize, but I have one pertinent suggestion. I highly suggest that you place numerous signs throughout the airport and all border crossings warning tourists about Bo cha, otherwise known as Yak Butter Tea. You see, the average tourist palate is incapable of appreciating the delights of tea made from yak butter and salt. Also while I’m at it, don’t you have some form of torture (since this is your specialty) you could administer to any Tibetan who dares to serve Bo cha to a tourist who just ordered cha ngamo (sweet milky tea)?

Lhasa has a crosswalk! I was so excited I actually went out of my way to use it even though I didn't need to cross the street. Eyes focused on the blinking green man I stepped into the street just in time for a Han Chinese man in a landcruiser to casually attempt to run me over.

Apparently a red light means go also. I flew in yesterday afternoon. Following almost a dozen passport and visa checks by an abundance of Chinese military, our friend Doug and our Tibetan guide Norbu greeted us with the traditional white scarf, called a kha tak, which is used as an honor or to say welcome. For military reasons the airport is separated by two valleys. I began to feel the altitude sickness right away. It is difficult to explain how it feels but at least my case is relatively mild. It feels a bit like anxiety and like someone is sitting on me and Im tired but cant sleep as if I had too much coffee. Anyway its been 24 hours now and it seems to be subsiding. We are at 12000 ft. so it’s pretty darned high. The sun is intense! Its cool enough for a jacket but the sun burns my legs through my jeans. Doug has three cafes in the old part of town which is where I am staying in a hotel called Kychu.

On my way there I made my first observations about Lhasa. The people are absolutely gorgeous! The men all look like Tibetan Antonio Banderas' with a cowboy swagger and wear cool blue jeans like a hollywood director. Unlike Kathmandu, the shops are filled with locals who seem to have money to spend. The women wear traditional Tibetan chupas and swaddle their babies on their backs. The streets are clean and filled with Tibetans and Han Chinese. Groups of military police line every street corner holding riot gear, while other groups march through the streets. The heavy show of military is intended to remind the Tibetans who is in charge night and day.

Kamal

Kamal

Many of the beggars here are street kids, who are often glue sniffers as well. Kamal was different though. He approached me with 3 of his paintings which he was selling for 200 rupies a piece. He had a work ethic which I admired so I bought one. I commissioned another painting of something musical. He agreed to meet me at my hotel cafe in the morning at 11. At 11:30 i found him crouched down on a pile of dirt outside the hotel in the street. Turns out the hotel wouldn’t allow him inside even though I had told them I was expecting him. Much to the dismay of the staff I brought him into the garden and shared my breakfast with him which he devoured. He brought me a painting of a young woman playing the violin which I bought for 100 rupies. When I asked him to make some more he hesitantly admitted he had no more paper. In my ignorance I suggested he buy some more paper with all the money he just made which would have cost 40 rupies. I can never describe the look on his face, but he smiled weakly and agreed but I

realized immediately that the money was gone and that he was most likely supporting his family. So I took him shopping. He took me to a dusty office supply street stand in his neighborhood where their entire selection of art supplies consisted of plain drawing paper, water colors, pencils and colored pencils. So we bought one of each. He had so much pride in his eyes as he pushed toward the front of the line and ordered one of everything! Afterwards we made a business deal that he owed me two more paintings in exchange for the supplies. The boy has integrity. He showed up the next day with a

painting of the buddha. He plans on finding me at Mahesh’s shop upon my return. During our breakfast I asked him about his family and he told me about his siblings. One had been sent away to France to study when he was five. They have never heard from him since. That was three years ago. Sadly he was most likely sold into a brothel. Kamal thinks he is probably so busy studying that he just hasn’t had time to contact them.

SASANE

I will never forget the women of SASANE. When I arrived I was immediately honored with two flower necklaces. There were around 8-10 girls waiting for me and they immediately put these beautiful hand made flower necklaces around my neck and started taking group photos. I was able to do several interviews then did a little photo shoot with each one of them. The camera seemed to make them pretty uncomfortable, and one girl asked me why I don’t shoot straight on (like a mug shot). She had never heard of someone standing sideways and looking over their shoulder for a picture.

Surrendra, my laughing newsman, asked if they could print a story about me in the Nepali National news paper. All I could think was, all of these survivors are heroes and they want to do an article about me?

I’ve decided that you must be a squirrel to cross a street in Kathmandu effectively. Dodging and darting this way and that and just when you think you have a clearing seven more motorcycles and twelve taxies come barreling down the street out of nowhere. It’s also confusing because all traffic will be going one way then you get half way across only to be walking head on into traffic coming from the other direction. Apparently the streets are one way sometimes, the other way sometimes and sometimes both ways. It changes every couple of minutes and just when it couldn’t possibly get any more chaotic, a dozen or so people will cross all the traffic carrying a huge billboard. Why did the chicken cross the road takes on a whole new meaning here.

Johnny Depp

The favorite opening question is “Where are you from?” I usually say “California” then they look at me quizzically and say “Ahmeerika?” “Yes! Hollywood!” I exclaim with the same excitement I have when finding someone who knows my hometown. My enthusiasm was only matched by their reaction to meeting someone from Ahmeerika, which tripled at the thought that I was from the movie capitol of the world. They would say “Why you don’t be in movies?”

So I mention a silly movie I did with Johnny Depp. Johhny Depp! I’m thinking this is going to send them into a fit of excitement so tremendous it will make Ahmeerika seem like Rhode island. In return for my blustering I get a blank look and the unexpected “Who is theese Johnny Dapp, I don’t know. He is Actor?” Turns out Johnny could walk around here free as a sparrow and no one would know a thing as they hawked their tiger balm and hash. They do, however, know who Jack Sparrow is and the Governator.

Mahesh

The next morning I had a meeting with Shyam Pokhara, owner of SASANE an organization that helps survivors of Human Trafficking by giving them paralegal training.

In Nepal if you are a victim of human trafficking your family will not accept you back into their home and no one will marry you so most women end up beggars on the street or have to continue prostituting themselves to survive. So as paralegals, not only can they support themselves but they work with the police stations to help other victims because the police wont write up a report for a family of a trafficked relative without charging a fee. And since most victims come from poor rural farming communities, they cannot pay.

To translate Shyam brought Surendra Bdr. Nepali, from the National news Agency. Surendra wears thick coke bottle glasses and laughs all the time. No matter what I said, he laughed. He also shook his head “no” a lot. Especially when he was saying yes. In fact the stronger his yes, the more his head said “no.” So we shared nepali tea and talked about the very serious issue of human trafficking and chuckled our way through the meeting. We arranged to meet at the SASANE offices tomorrow where I will be able to interview some of the women.

It was time to meet Mahesh at Hotel Lucky Star so I grabbed my camera. Mahesh is the skinniest person I have ever met. He is also the sweetest human being on the planet. Love and kindness exude from his eyes and his smile. He decided to take me up to the Bouddhanath. The Bouddhanath is one of the holiest sites in Kathmandu and has one of the largest spherical stupas in the world.

It was a bit touristy for me but I was glad I brought my camera anyway. That is until I discovered I had no battery or card. We walked around for a bit then had pizza on a rooftop restaurant. Mahesh is an interesting young man. He grew up in a small village with eight other siblings. At fifteen he moved to the city on his own to continue his education and to start a business. Now he is 23 and has three shops. He wants to get his degree in management in London then come back to be a business man probably in the clothing business. I asked him how the whole marriage thing worked in Nepal. He has never had a girlfriend or even kissed a girl. He said he doesn’t believe in ‘love’ marriage, only arranged marriage. He said women from the city are too complicated and it’s better to have your parents choose a simple girl from a village. When he is ready his parents will show him some pictures of some girls and he will choose one. The parents will arrange for a family meeting so he can see if he likes her in person. If so then they will get married right away, within a week or two. He said he is in no hurry, he would like to wait until he is 30 and has established his business first. After lunch we returned to his shop and hung out with Ram and some of their friends. There is Dipendra, he is the suave one with two teeth in each spot where most of us only have one. Then there is Mahesh’s nephew who is t

he same age. He is the intellectual handsome one. Another guy has a huge overbite and likes to tell me how beautiful I look today. Ganesh playfully gives me language lessons and Surrendra and I discuss his tour business. We spend hours discussing politics and love. Somehow these two topics blended seamlessly throughout the evening as we devoured delicious bowls of chicken noodle soup with chicken feet and chiapati under a single small lightbulb. Some of the friends came and went and so did the electricity.

When it did we would huddle around a candle and continue our passionate discussions while the din of taxi horns and rickshaw bells harmonized in the background.

HOTEL LUCKY STAR

Today was find a guide day. I stopped in at the Hotel Lucky Star, a place recommended to me by the cousin of the owner who is friends with an old friend of mine from High school in Kansas. They actually seemed impressed. “Oh you are a friend of a friend of a friend of the owners cousin? Please come in. You are family now.” The manager invited me to sit with him and have milk tea. I told him I needed someone to interpret for me as well as help with filming and carrying gear. He sent for his friend, Mahesh, two doors down and we set up a time for tomorrow. Meanwhile Ram, the manager, offered to leave work early and take me around for a couple hours. I gave him a quick lesson in photography/videography and we were off into the throes of Kathmandu. Our first stop was the tailors, where I picked up my new corduroys, then deep into the city. His english was great! It was the accent that was the problem. He explained to me how the trash service works. Basically everybody dumps their trash in the street then every once in a while government workers come around and clean it all up. I wondered aloud if it might be useful as well as cost effective to just put trash cans on the streets. It was probably my accent but he seemed genuinely confused. I told him that in the states it is illegal to throw trash on the ground and that one could get a ticket. This sent him into a fit of laughter and a slap on the back at which point he called me a jokester. I had no idea I was so funny. At the end of the night he put me on a micro bus headed back to my neighborhood. A micro bus is

a mini van with a minimum of thirty people in it. For ten rupees I got to be trampled by 29 Nepalese and 4 Indians for 30 minutes with all the windows closed. A romantic Indian song repeated itself over and over again as a baby in the back cried from the stench of all that human warmth. My chin held someone’s butt up while my right eye got squeezed shut by a fat lady’s armpit. Just when I thought packed sardines had it good, the micro bus stopped and four more people squeezed in. The heat from the floor of the bus was starting to burn my feet through my sandals and then it occurred to me, isn’t this a fire hazard?

Oh well, we’re in Nepal, who are we gonna sue? One thing is for certain, immigrants crossing the California border could learn a thing or two here. When it was finally time to leave I stepped onto the curb then turned around and waved goodbye. We had bonded and I felt empty and alone without them.

Kathmandu, Nepal. Thursday, October 8th. noon.

Got in late and slept like a baby til 7am. Breakfast on the veranda in the rain. Egg, stale corn flakes with hot steamy milk, masala tea, toast and jam. It is 11 hours and 45 minutes ahead of LA time. Explain that one to me. Just been trying to sort out the travel permits to Tibet. I think someone tried to sell me some hash. I mean maybe not. He just sort of randomly spit out the word “hash?” into my ear as I passed by. So it could have just been a symptom of hash turrets of some sort.

I had cow cheese on toast with hot lemon water for lunch. Walked around the Thamel neighborhood most of the day.

Nepalese people are so sweet! They have a very gentle spirit about them. One young man was so polite as I walked by he called out “Excuse me, may I F#@* you?” May I! My goodness such nice grammar! I tried to match his good manners with a sweet smile and a wink as I flipped him off.

I found a jeans tailor. That’s a tailor who makes jeans. The cost is 1000 rupies wh

ich is the equivalent of about $15. I later took a taxi back into his neighborhood, a part of town where there aren’t many tourists, to drop off my old jeans for him to replicate but the traffic was so bad no one could move. The taxi driver would turn his car off for a few minutes then when there was a little room he would start up his car and move forward 11 1/2 inches. Many times I suggested that I get out and walk but he wouldn’t have it. Eventually I just popped open the door a few inches and squeezed out, instantly blending in with the crowd. When I arrived the tailor and his whole family were waiting for me. I showed him my jeans and then he asked me to try them on in the dressing room which doubles after hours as their bedroom. He came in a little too soon which embarrassed him more than me, but then when I saw a picture of his wife I realized it might have made him a little bit happy too. So now I have my own personal jeans tailor.

After we were done he offered to have his son give me a ride to my guesthouse on the back of his motorcycle.

It’s amazing how the drivers here manage to squeeze into the tiniest of spaces, like a mouse squeezes into a hole half its size.

P.S.

Have you ever seen a squished rat? His tail was still intact. That’s how i could tell it wasn’t a large cat or a small dog.

Hong Kong, October the 7th, 6 pm

Two days after departing LA and I'm not even there yet. I'm just boarding my flight to Dhaka, Bangladesh, on an airline called

Dragon Air. Dragon Air! doesn't that sound cool? Or hot...I guess...you know cuz of the Dragon's hot air...Anyway, I will have an hour to change flights in Dhaka, which I imagine is a small airport. Bangladesh isn't really known for it's fancy anything, except maybe bangles and hand painted bicycle seats, but no real tourism and it's very poor. Next will be a short flight to Kathmandu, and beddy bye in Nepal by midnight.

I landed in Hong Kong at 7 am this morning so I spent the day exploring the city. Did you know that Hong Kong means ‘fragrant harbor’ in english? It looks an awful lot like China town, and I noticed an awful lot of chinese people live here too. They are EVERYWHERE! They have a neighborhood here called Hollywood and another one called SOHO. But even those neighborhoods looked like chinatown. Weird. around 1 o'clock this afternoon I was trying to figure out where to eat so I approached an un asiany looking guy for advice. We got to talking about this and that when he mentioned that he used to work for Human Rights Watch. I couldn't believe it. Millions of people live in Hong Kong and I happen to approach the one guy who used to work for Human Rights Watch. Oh and Amnesty International before that and now he runs an organization that researches and documents labor

violations in China. Need less to say the Chinese Government isn't particularly fond of him. I mentioned what I do in my line of work then asked him a few questions about Tibet at which point he looked around and said "would you like to come back to my office for a cup of coffee" he had kind of a special look in his eyes like a "we need to talk privately" look. So of course I said "Sure!" Back at his office he made each of us a thick black cappuccino and brought me into the conference room along with one of his colleagues. We had a wonderful conversation and he had some amazing stories. He was working for HRW

during the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989. He was the one monitoring the situation when government troops opened fire on pro-democracy protesters, killing more then 2000 innocent people. He was the one who wrote the official report on the incident. I didn’t realize it but most of the major news agencies had already left and he was one of only a handful of foreign journalists who witnessed the massacre. When I asked him if he was scared he just looked at me quizzically and said " No I wasn’t scared, I was raised in Glasgow!"

As we were leaving he gave me a big hug and we exchanged skype info. I love it when things like that happen. I don't think it was an accident.

It was one of those wonderful instant connection things.