The kora around the Great Stupa of Bhudhanath

Between morning and evening I usually wrote and did some shopping.

Getting cleaned up at the street-corner barber next to the Shechen Monastery

In five days I went on just two outings: to Kopan monastery, 3 miles away, and to the UNICEF World Heritage city of Bhaktapur, 10 miles away.

Pottery Square in the preserved town of Bhaktapur

On June 5th I began the journey home with a 90 minute flight to New Delhi, a fourteen hour flight to Newark, New Jersey, and a 60 minute flight in a puddle jumper to Dulles Airport in Virginia.

It was good to be home.

Plaque at Kopan Monastery

After three hours we passed through Nyalam where we had begun our acclimatization to high altitude 22 days before. From there is was just 38 kilometer (and a drop of 4000 feet) down the mountain to the border town of Zengmu.

At the Chinese border station

We stayed in small hotel and were out early in an attempt to be near the front of the line when the Chinese border station opened in the morning. Several groups of Indian tourists seemed to have made it out even earlier.

Friendship Bridge -- China on the right, Nepal on the left

Even leaving the country , the Chinese border staff scanned our bags and carefully  hand-checked them. They were particularly interested in  my little computer. They asked whether I had Tibetan documents on it and asked to see any photos I had on it. I showed them a file with photos from the blog, and after a few minutes they lost interest and told me to pack it up.

On the Nepalese side, the only concern seemed to be that we had valid visas. I needed a new 15 day visa — $25 in U.S. currency.

Our tour agency had arranged for a bus to bring our group and our Sherpa cooks back to Kathmandu.

Tour buses loading on on the Nepalese side

By late afternoon we arrived in the Kathmandu suburb of Boudhanath,  where we had started. I was grateful to be back at the Shechen Monastery Guesthouse: a comfortable room with an attached bath, a vegetarian restaurant, smiling staff, and wifi when they had electrical power.

Shechen Monastery, Boudhanath

Mt Everest from the main street of Tingri

Our schedule called for an overnight trip to the Chinese Everest Base Camp. (Everest is on the border, so there is also a Nepalese Everest Base Camp.) Though it was less than 30 miles away, the trip required a several-hour drive over very rough roads. The main attraction was a closer look at Mt. Everest. Half of us decided we had enough car time and would rather stay in Tingri.

Local transport on market day in Tingri (Timothy photo)

Fortuitous circumstances then came together. Patrick works as a volunteer at Machik, a Tibetan development organization based in Washington, D.C. (My daughter, Juliana, also worked there as an intern, and one of the founders spoke a year ago at the Still Water Mindfulness Practice Center.) Machik is named after Machik Labdron, a beloved 12th century Tibetan woman teacher, known especially for teaching laypeople practices that helped them reduce self-centeredness and attain Emptiness. Our guide grew up near Tingri and mentioned to Patrick that there was a cave/shrine near Tingri where Machik had lived and taught for several years. Though our guide went with the group to Everest Base Camp, his brother was a monk at a nearby temple and could show our driver the way.

Off we went, away from the main road towards the mountains. We traveled on tracks through the sand, pass several villages, and seemingly backwards in time. We passed people on horseback, herds of goats and sheep, and patches of barley growing in what looked like irrigated rice paddies. We parked the Land Cruiser and hiked up a valley to a set of adobe buildings on a hillside. The nearby hilltops had very old ruins, perhaps of fortresses or monasteries. (Like Tsaparang, this was an area where irrigation was possible, and thus a year-round settlement could thrive.)

The outside of the Machik cave/shrine

A young man had come from the nearby village with a key and opened the shrine building for us. Inside were lit butter lamps, thankas, and a variety of ritual objects. Nothing elaborate. Nothing official. It was simply a shrine the local people had maintained in memory of Machik Labdron for perhaps 800 years. 

As I looked out from the shrine/cave at the enormous vista, I felt nourished by the view that had nourished Machik Labdron so many years ago.

The view from the cave/shrine (Timothy photo)

The changing desert (Gabriele photo)

Periodically my thoughts move to the lives of the hundreds of workers building the road. Though some heavy equipment is used, much of the work is done by  laborers shoveling sand, placing large rocks, delivering wheelbarrows of cement, and other manual tasks. Most are young. Many are female. They seem to be a mix of Tibetan and Chinese. I was told by our guides that they work 12 hour days. Often they smile and wave as we pass. (Looking through my pictures, and the pictures of others, I’m amazed how few pictures there are of the road-workers. Even though they were an almost constant presence, I think we all felt it was somehow intrusive to photograph them.)

One of the few pictures of road workers (Timothy photo)

An interesting moment occurred on our way to Trongba. We had pulled off the road to have a simple picnic lunch by a stream. Several hundred feet from us a canopy had been set up with chairs underneath, and a few feet away a white-coated chef appeared to be working on a meal. Several minutes later six speeding Land Cruisers, their horns blazing, pull up to the canopy.

We continued eating our beans and rice chapatis, and, after a while, a few members of the new group walked over to us. They were young, smartly dressed Chinese carrying cameras with large telephoto lens. We exchanged the usual questions: Where are you from? What are you doing here? Apparently they all worked for a company in Shanghai and the owner had decided to take his staff of 17 on a road trip through Tibet. The ones who had come over were articulate in English — one young woman had a masters from Stanford — but they didn’t seem to know much about Tibet.  (For example, they knew little about the cultural and spiritual significance of Mt. Kailash, where they would go in several days.)

It seemed like for them, we were very interesting exotica: a scruffy group of Americans, Germans, and Japanese Buddhist on a pilgrimage through western Tibet. As if to emphasize this, a few minutes into our exchange four Tibetan women carrying children walked close by our group, apparently looking for hand-outs of food or money. The Chinese stepped back and raised the cameras to record the interactions. (Accustomed to being subjects, we were now objects.)

A head-scratching translation on the main street of the town of Saga.

The trail back to Darchen

The end of  the kora is something of a let down.  After the transfer point where the yaks trains are met by trucks, the trial turns into a dusty road with a strong head wind. At a fork in the road I am uncertain which one to choose, so I stand and wait for a group of Tibetan pilgrims to catch up to me, then follow along with them for the next twenty minutes. They seem to understand what I am doing, smile kindly, and invite me to sit with them when they stop for a rest.

The final approach to Darchen is especially grim: the area appears to be an unregulated dump strewn with glass, metal, and plastic.

Gritty Darchen, with Mt. Kailash in the background

Everyone in our group finishes the kora: some quicker, some slower, some with the help of a horse or a truck.

There is a confusion about our rooms. The guide finds an alternative, another Tibetan guesthouse — the nine of us will sleep in a room with eight beds.

During our afternoon in Darchen, everyone in the group visits the Chinese-run bath house, which advertises “God-healing water.” Somehow they produce vast quantities of hot water with a solar heater — it is appreciated.

We set off at nine for the Droma La / Tara Pass, the highest point on the kora. At 18,600 feet it is 2400 feet above Dirapuk Monastery.  The trail we are told, ascends steeply, flattens out for a while, then ascends again very steeply. The views are wonderful: the powerful presence of Mt. Kailash is available for much of the way. For me, it is a very hard climb. Again my heart aches. It is not racing, but rather simply trying to get enough oxygen. Every few minutes I stop and rest, learning again my poles. I try every remedy or aid I can think of: the altitude medication Diomax, some gly-coramin squares another pilgrim has given me, honey-based energy bar from home, lots of water.

A glacier pack just before the pass

I just keep pushing on. After five hours of walking I reach the pass. I join with other pilgrims in throwing up in the air a small pack of papers with blessings on them, thanking the gods for allowing me to make it safely this far.

The celebration upon reaching the pass

Then I unroll my prayer flags. Seemingly everyone brings prayer flags. I tie them between two rocks already festooned with flags and think of the many people I want to send blessing to.

After a half hour enjoying the festivities of each new group attaining the pass, I begin the descent. It is a steeper and rockier trail, requiring more attention than the ascent. Three and a half hours later, I descend into a gentle valley. There is a small tent tea house there and I meet up with five of the slower walkers from our group. We are all exhausted.

After hot noodles and other refreshments, we learn from our guide that out camp is several more hours away.  “Just stay on the left bank of the river,” he says.

Yaks with our bags. (Four yaks for the tents and kitchen, two yaks for our sleeping bags and duffles.

I begin walking again at 5:45.  The trail is easy and after an hour I begin to look for our encampment. Probably over the next hill or just beyond where the river turns right and is out of view. Hope after hope is dashed. Nothing to do but keep walking.  Three hours later there is still no camp in site. Part of me wants to complain or argue, but it makes no sense. The only thing that makes sense is being with my breath and my body and moving on. I walk for a few minutes, stop to breathe, and walk again

After the tea house, on the (seemingly) endless walk.

Finally around 9 pm, just as it is getting dark, I see the blue tents. I make it to camp by 9:20, have a bowl of soup, and am quickly in bed and asleep. One wonderful and exhausting day.

The elusive camp

Dirapuk Monastery (Gabriele photo)

I gravitate to a cave at the back of the monastery and sit quietly on the side of the small cave for 40 minutes. I try to still my mind and feel the energy of the place. No words, memories, or images come to me. However, without thinking about it, I begin to say blessings for the well being of my family, my community, the people in my life, and for all sentient beings. I repeat the blessings over and over, wishing that specific individuals and groups may be well, happy, and peaceful. Saying the blessings just feels right and my spirits are buoyed up by it.

Later in the day most of our group goes together to the monastery. Again I gravitate to the cave, however this time I notice there is a sign, in surprisingly good English, not far from from the entrance doorway.  The sign notes that in 1215 Master Gotsampa found the cave and began three years of practice in it. Since then it has been continuously used as a practice site by the Dakpo-Kagyupa sect.  It is said that Master Gotsampa answers all wishes for health, longevity, and wealth. “For this reason it is important for pilgrims to pray for the well being of all sentient beings at this wonderful site.”

I return to the monastery several more times during the afternoon, so sit in the cave and to sit with the monks who are chanting for the day. I feel honored by the head monk who noticed that I had come several times and motioned for me to sit down on the bench reserved for monks.

Dirapuk Monastery towards the back, our tents to the left, in the foreground is a lodging for Hindu pilgrims

By dinner time there is a light snow and a cold wind.

View of Mt. Kailash from our tents (Timothy photo)

Starting the kora (Gabriele photo)

I pick up two stones as I approach a cairn and place them on top in memory of my parents.

As I walk I think again about the bad karma/ negative energy I carry with me in this life: the irrational fears, the pettiness, the insecurities. I think about the role the play in my life, how they came to be, what it would mean to let them go.

At the Saga Dawa pole, Mt. Kailash in background (Gabriele photo)

After several hours, however, my attention turns from the spiritual to the physical. I am now walking at close to 16,000 feet and my heart is struggling to get the oxygen it needs. I walk a few minutes, then stop and breathe for 10 or 20 breaths, then walk a few more minutes. The trail here is not difficult (much easier than the trek in Nepal), there is no significant discomfort in my feet, legs, or back, but my heart hurts. It is not racing — it stays at about 120 beats per minute. It just hurts. For a few minutes I entertain thoughts about how messy it would be to have a cardiac event at Mt. Kailash, then realize that these thoughts are not helpful.

Twice during the day we have the opportunity to stop at “tea houses,” large tents that Tibetan families have set up that offer butter tea, soft drinks, noodle soup, and a few other items.

I stop at each and am grateful to sit for a few minutes and talk with some of the others in our group. At the second stop I take a half of a Diomax (an altitude sickness prevention medicine). When I start walking again, my heart hurts less, though it is still struggling to give me oxygen.

I walk by myself and just keep moving, following the river on my left and Mt. Kailash on my right. Periodically I stop and lean on my walking sticks and marvel at the quiet beauty of the land and the majesty of Mt. Kailash.

The long trail (Gabriele photo)

Nine and a half hours after we started walking, I arrive at our encampment, beautifully situated near the Dirapuk Monastery. I lie quietly in my tent for two hours, until dinner, then after dinner go right to bed.

The town is pretty bleak: two or three wide unpaved streets and trash strewn everywhere.  There are Tibetan guest houses, a few “supermarkets” selling general supplies, and many tents and strore-fronts selling practical goods (walking sticks, gloves, lighters) and religious goods (prayer flags, incense, katas).

Darchen (Gabriele photo)

For me, the high point was a Chinese public bath house which had 8 small rooms, each with a shower and a changing area.

The low point, again, was trying to get an internet connection. Apparently, the internet store-front from last year had not re-opened. One of the guest houses kept promising internet, but could not provide it.

More lessons in letting go.

In the evening our group makes practical plans for the kora (timing, a buddy system) and talks about the inner kora (or transformation) that accompanies the outer kora (the actual walking).

(If you look at a map, we are almost at the edge of Tibet, 1200 miles west of Lhasa, at the place where northern Nepal and India meet at the China/Tibet border.)

We have come here because in the 10th to 17th century this part of Tibet was home to the Guge Kingdom, then one of the most powerful force in Tibet and the neighboring area. (One source said it controlled an area of 100,000 square kilometers,)  In Tibetan history, the Guge kingdom is known as the primary promoter of the second diffusion of Buddhism in Tibet (after its persecution by Lang Darma). Numerous Buddhist monasteries and temples were constructed, first in the capital of Tholing, then later in Tsaparang.

Our group at the official entrance to the ruins of Tsaparang

Then in the 17th century it all collapsed — some cite the divisiveness caused by the presence of a Jesuit mission as the precipitating cause. An army from Ladakh overran and sacked the kingdom. For hundreds of years the buildings sat there abandoned. Lama Govinda came through in 1948 and made sketches and photographs of many of the remaining paintings and sculptures. Sadly, most were destroyed in the next twenty years by the Red Army and the Cultural Revolution. Later, in the 1980s, what remained was recognized by China as a cultural treasure. Now it is a national heritage park.

Looking down into the ruins

We stay for a day and half, climbing over the ruins of what was once a whole city with royal compounds, monasteries, and places for workers and administrators. Care-takers unlock for us the once richly decorated temples. I feel privileged to have this window into history.

The way up to the top of the ruins