Some glad morning when this life is over... I'll fly away.
My legs felt stiff as they pumped the bike pedals through the dark deserted city streets. I met Dolker at the bus station surging like a beehive, the only sign of life aside from the dazed street sweepers in orange coveralls that I had passed that morning yet. We wiggled our way through the crowds after scarfing some tasteless rice porridge and found two seats as the back of the musty butter smelling bus.
To a home on His celestial shore... I'll fly away.
The air was crisp slicing through our cracked window. The river was turquoise, the sky was blue nestled in a sheet of clouds. The mountains were dotted with yellowing trees and reddening bushes giving the illusion of flames licking their feet. When the road winding through the mountain passes turned into a one lane ordeal with frequent blocks due to stray yak, goat herds, and squealing pigs, I realized how far away from Lhasa we had come. When the one lane road turned into dirt I realized how far we still had to go.
I'll fly away.
Slightly queasy with sloshy stomachs we arrived at Dregung Monastery. Like red and white lego blocks chucked on the side of a sculptural masterpiece it was a shock to the senses to glance left and see the snow dusted peaks towering above a freshly harvested valley and glance right and see the smattering of gaudy temples. And the birds, black shadows swooping low, black foreboding packs gliding through the thin air, black gusts suddenly bursting from nearby bushes, they were everywhere. Shocking in their abundance and huge size. Dregung specializes in Tibetan sky burials, corpses cut up and left for the birds. Today I had to learn the Tibeatn word for vulture.
When the shadows of this life have gone... I'll fly away.
Outside we wandered through the monastery, laughing, taking pictures, avoiding overly friendly grandfathers, dodging birds, catching our breath, remarking infinitely on the grandeur of the mountains and valley constantly in view, and were greeted by a playful dusting of a snow storm.
Inside she scrapped butter out of a plastic bag and dumped it into smelly, smoldering lamps, she tucked small cash notes into idols hands, she bowed, she chanted, she let her body lie flat on the floor before some metal buddhas perpetually riding on big metal horses. The monks droned their spells, changing only at the snap of the leaders fingers, they beat their drums, they listened to their mp3's, they drank their butter tea, they eyed the pale one. I asked my Father for wings...
Like a bird from prison bars has flown... I'll fly away.
Temples finished, the green hills covered with yak and wild flowers, the light play of snow, the blue overhead, Dolker's contagious laughter could have kept me right there. But when I stood precariously on the near vertical sandy mountain face and stared that particularly feisty yak with downward thrusted horns right in the face I realized I didn't have the right shoes or guts to spend even the night. So off we were down the mountain in search of a car back to Dolker's hometown, halfway back to Lhasa. A search that ended after nearly forty five minutes of standing on a dusty one laned street where young men reved motorcycles and one driver, who's driving turned out to be only half as crazy as his hair, swished red bull in his mouth and waited for more people to join us.
Just a few more weary days and then... I'll fly away.
"I'm not tired," I told Dolker minutes before we both fell sound asleep sitting straight up in the crowded, jostling van. When our exhausted bobbing heads could stand it no more we awoke, and just in time to ask Mr. My-Hair-Couldn't-Have-Been-Craizer-If-I'd-Tried to drop us off at her sister's tea house. A welcome retreat for two, nearly half starved, sleepy, travelers. The only items on the menu were tea and noodles. Three kinds of tea, black, butter, and sweet, two kinds of noodles... which, after trying both, tasted uncannily the same. We chatted with her mother, a fat droopy eyed woman with few teeth but the same contagious laugh, her sister, her brother, and her sister's daughter. I insisted on taking a family photo, they insisted that I include myself in it.
To a land where joy will never end... I'll fly away.
A herd of piglets caused havoc in the nearby ditch as we pulled away. Two vans later we had bounced meandered our way back to Lhasa. It was dark by the time I had biked like the little engine that could back up the mountain to my school. A student's tap at the door minutes after arrival back bestowed all of the joys of her mother's home cooked bread on my next few days. A phone call from a monk who's been away traveling for about a month hinted at long teas and too many pictures to come. I did some last minute preparations for tomorrow's class and wondered if my Father hadn't in fact given me those wings I asked for...
Fly.
