The journey:
It was about a forty-five minute drive outside of Lhasa, which means up into the mountains, along some extremely winding roads that our driver chose to traverse as if they were straight runways. Along the way there were sudden stops to pick up pilgrims and other passersby and the soundtrack was a really delightful medley of about 20 student voices and an assortment of Tibetan and Chinese pop songs. Chatting with students and spelling out really useful words for them like "barf" provided additional entertainment. Is there anything more unusual than a lone white girl on loaded bus sharing dried yak meat and brief Tibetan phrases with everyone else on board?
The destination:
Picture a few buildings nestled in amongst all manner of caves in the rocks near the peak of a mountain. More chortens and incense burners than buildings was the monatery we arrived at. This place made me nauseaus, and it had nothing to do with the wild bus ride up to that altitude.
My students spent all kinds of money buying butter and incense from the people at the bottom of the stairs which led up through the monastery. For luck. They even paid a random pilgrim some additional money to take some prayer flags which they had just bought up to the top of the mountain for them. For luck. We went into every little cave and every little room. Most tiny caves were pitch black and a monk sat at the back of them nestled amongst butter lamps and some budda statue. For luck. The monks beds that we passed by were notable being rotten smelly things usually exposed to the elements and you can be assured that no night of peaceful sleep ever happened there. Caves of rotting tangkas, butter smeared everywhere, mao notes squished into the butter all over the cave walls. For luck. Most caves had some special rock you were suposed to rub or sit on. For luck. Every statue we had to walk around clockwise. For luck. When I saw a budda wrapped up in cloth I commented that he must be cold and another sitting amidst bowls of candy offerings that he must be hungry, to the amusement of my students who have never dreamed to question why they do any of these things because it's all for luck.
The place that made me sick with rage to the point of real nausea was one particular cave. There was absolutely nothing special about it, in fact it looked like the monastery's dump because there was so much trash in the back. Yet, there sat an old monk who diligently pointed out to us all of the gods that had formed naturally in the cave which should be worshipped. For luck. So what did all of my students do once they had, finally, found what gods he was talking about? They worshipped. Do you want to see what they were worshipping? I bet you do.
That light spot near the upper center... that's their god. There were two others just like him in other parts of the cave.There is so much that I can't write that I wish I could.
The lunch:
Between snow drifts, hail storms, and bursts of deceptive sunlight our group pushed our way into the only tea house at the tiny monastery. There was absolutely no room as everyone on the mountain had the same idea as we did. However, because I was a foreigner and easily the only one that they'd seen in perhaps months if not years, the staff made room for us in their kitchen/bedroom. So we crowded in amidst all manner of personal and kitchen items to rest in the musty, dark grunge of tea house life. The tea house was also out of food (I'm fluent enough in Tibetan to understand the word "mendu" (not have) repeated endlessly). So we lunched on some plastic baggies of cold noodles and potatoes and drank most of our body weights in butter tea (of which there is always an endless supply, I'm becoming convinced that that stuff springs out of the ground around here). Luckily I had made some cherry walnut biscuits for everyone to share.
The awkward:
I don't know how to describe this situation. So I and three other students thought it prudent to use the toilet at the same time. We made our way over to the concrete hut that serves as a WC, passing out paper and chatting. The concrete hut is really just that, four concrete walls and a concrete floor with three holes in it which drop over the side of the mountain. No stalls, no trashcans, no potpourri, just holes. My students graciously allowed me to go along with two of them while the third one waited... directly in front of us as we were squatting over holes doing our business. As I'm feeling the icy air rush through the hole to my exposed bum the fourth student, an adorable and shy girl, who was standing right in front of me asks, "Ms. Kelly, today are you happy?" Squatting in filth with mess spread all over the mountainside below me, I glance at the two other girls and look at this one and answer completely honestly, "I am so happy to be with you." Then I wiped myself and pulled up my pants.
