To share a few moments -- journal entries, a route map and extra notes.

June 18, 1995 -- We started out from Zhangmu but were forced to turn back when a landslide made the road impossible to pass.

June 19, 1995 -- this entry comes at 12:43pm during our second attempt --

We've been stopped up at the landslide for 45 minutes. Two explosions just tore a large portion of rock down into the river. Before the two blasts the workers were running and motioning me to follow them to take shelter in amongst the trucks. I just looked at them and thought to myself "Yeah, right. What the hell do I need to go back there for." Our driver had just pulled the truck around the corner. I got out quite unconcerned and, rolling my eyes, began to follow then stopped. Not bothering to go any farther, thinking it quite safe, I peered down into the river valley through the fog. The first explosion echoed … nothing … for a few seconds, then rocks began thumping down not more than a few feet away. The driver and I, both standing in the middle of the road, looked at each other then tore for shelter against the face of the cliff. The second explosion threw even more rock into the air, some of it sliding down the rock face and whizzing past our heads. A couple vehicles received dents, but all of us are alive.

The next day after successfully darting past the landslide area, we awoke to the effects of the previous day's altitude climb. From 2300 meters in Zhangmu to 5200 meters at the top of the La-Lung-la pass, then descending to 4390 meters in Old Tingri to spend the night. June 20, 1995 11:08am --

Good morning. Awake by nine. I feel like a freight train has hit me or I've been in a wrestling match all night: the altitude effects. Dull ache in the head, muscles ache. Last night I had to bolt for the door because I thought I was going to woof my cookies. Fortunately a simple movement was enough in front of the nighttime dog audience. The night stars here have only been equaled by Egypt's Dahab and Pakistan's Chitral region. The sky is alive with lights.

The hot water for this morn's wash was especially fine. Then I took a stroll around the hotel's dirt walls. Out back a few tents are pitched with donkeys and cattle wandering. I managed to get a couple of photogenic kids snapped up onto film and then a few of the town intersection. Noodles, three eggs, biscuits, and hot chocolate for breakfast. And hey! Sheep dry meat! These people are too much.

The clouds! The clouds are so perfect up here! I could take a picture of anything and it would be beautiful.

The same day, after having advanced along the road towards Everest base camp, we began to experience the beginning of what was to be a long record of engine difficulties. 5:04pm --

Stuck in Chay. Oil leakage. Overheating, slowly we head back for Old Tingri where repairs can be made. In between our fits of laughter we chug a few extra kilometers down the road, snap a few pictures, then hover on exhaustion. Push starting the truck, winding it up, bunting the hanging dice to give ourselves the illusion of bouncing along down the road. The driver has got to be choked. What am I thinking, feeling? Well, my legs and arms are jello.

Then 6:20pm --

"Geo" -- the only word I may end up memorizing throughout all of China -- oil. We're camped outside some desert palace waiting for the owner to come back. The woman says, "He will be back before dark." Dark comes at 10:30pm. Anthony and Florence, when they first crossed the border into Zhangmu, talked to three sets of travelers. He found it amusing to hear all three groups say: "Nothing works according to plan in Tibet." And so our Mad Max (movie) madness continues in search of oil on top of the world. A dusty, baked moonscape where seldom any soul travels. Oxygen and oil -- precious stuff. As fellow pilgrim Dana says to her friend Martha -- "Hey! No grumpiness, remember?!"

June 21, 1995, 5:35pm (Old Tingri) --

Last night around 1:00am the driver comes noisily into the room, a candle was eventually found, and he kept repeating "OK", "OK" as he wobbled to and fro, seemingly to try and reassure himself more than me. "OK", "OK". Out blows the candle. Awake by ten, breakfast by eleven. I have two more provinces to review in my Planet China book. The driver (now sober) says he can fix the truck. We may be on the road tomorrow.

8:52pm --

Since the beginning of the trip we have had a puppy with us in the back of the truck. I took him out for a stroll earlier and now being back in the truck he won't shut up. (Local natives) Bimba and her sister had Florence done up in Tibetan dress when I returned. Her blushed (sunburned) face went with the purple blouse. She said the kids were mystified over a white-skinned Tibetan woman. Blond hair?!

10:26pm --

Not wanting to take the chill (of a falling sun) sitting down, I took a stroll back into Tingri town. The feathery sky, pink peaks, and stretched shadows. The dogs awake, construction slows, and folks cozy into doors. How far the West has come. Sheer brilliance. God-like brains. But this too, this hardness, simpleness -- mud floors and well water -- this too is beautiful. The fear of gods, of nature, superstitions, tales, colors -- I like the latter's imagery, but I could never substitute the former for the latter. How to blend? … Nature and knowledge …

June 22. With the truck 'fixed', we attempt to make Mount Everest base camp again (the road was not paved). At the bottom of the Pang-la pass is the town of Chay, the Chinese checkpoint at 4300 meters. Well, we found out in Chay that with our combined body weights the truck was having a difficult time ascending the road. Determined to force the driver to his contract and to see Everest up close, four of us got out and began to walk up the pass (the top of the pass being 5120 meters). Leaving Florence in the truck (weakened by the altitude) with the driver and his transmission problems, up we started walking.

Several hours later, watching the truck do a slow and steady ascent, it eventually worked out that I beat the truck to the top of the pass by cutting cross-country and going straight up the hills. Two hours later as the last head, Anthony, comes over the final edge of the road to plop himself beside the truck, he muttered: "I must be in so good of shape because of all the office work I do." As I wrote at 7:34pm --

Hotel Passumpembah. Town of Passum. This side of the Pang-la pass is pretty enough. What I thought would be devoid of all life is spotted with villages, canals and plots. Somehow the truck has pulled through this far. A flat tire has capped the day, and not wanting to push for the Rombuk monastery today and do the climb to the Everest base camp tomorrow, we are going to camp in this pad for the night, resume travel tomorrow, doing the climb the day after next. The days keep stretching! What used to be a nine day tour is turning into weeks! I love it! It may not be convenient for the other four, but for me it is ideal. I don't have a scheduled departure date from anywhere. Having paid a large lump sum all this extra time is gravy for my Tibetan itinerary.

The kids here (in Passum village) are walking dirtballs, snotrags and full of noise. Our driver is ready to have his heart burst due to high blood pressure, and the rest of the gang is exhausted. That unscheduled multi-hour climb has wiped out most of our group energy.

June 23, 1995, 5:11pm --

Well, good grief. Last night's sleep was eventful. Claustrophobia incorporated. I had the patent on it. Sweating, losing direction, massive world spins, lost in the darkness, short of breath -- and on top of it all, weirdo dreams.

We must have left Passum around 11:30am. Blood, sweat and tears -- literally -- to get here. Only two kilometers away from the monastery did our driver express himself again, almost pleading for us to agree to turn around: "There's nothing there! Why are we going there?!" For him, obviously, Mount Everest at 8848 meters not being a sufficient reason. Earlier too he had confirmed our thoughts as Dana translated his words: "If I had known what this road was like, I would have never agreed to this contract. I could have done Lhasa easily, but this side road to Everest is very, very bad." In an emotional moment, exhausted and frustrated, Florence let out some tears. And on we went.

Dana and I have seen the monastery with our own two eyes -- the scout patrol. Hopefully, in an hour plus, the remaining three will have the same opportunity. As the truck is not going to cross the stream (so says our driver), this leaves the last 2 kilometers to walk. Here goes …

What a finish to yesterday! Managed to get across the stream (in our bare feet). After checking in we just about succeeded in burning the highest monastery in the world (at 5200m) to the ground trying to get Dana's kerosene stove to ignite. Her sitting in the doorway re-reading burnt instructions makes a good image for remembrance. Supper was eventually made -- noodles, hot chocolate and tea. Then water purification. Then preparation for Insomnia Round Two -- and a battle it was! Whew. I am glad to be awake. We're on the threshold of starting our walk to Base Camp I. Keep your fingers crossed for the clouds to clear.

The clouds did not clear that day, but the next day, June 25, 9:30am --

Everest is crystal clear!! Dana, Martha and I are going to Base Camp once again -- this is incredible!

In review of the day, a 9:33pm entry --

What was originally scheduled to be a 9:30am departure from Rombuk monastery was swept aside as the clouds covering Miss Everest decided to clear up and give us an eyeful. Eighty four minutes later I was back at the Base Camp. By 1:00pm the two girls and I were listening to three world class peak busters who were planning to complete the climb of Everest the beginning of August, allowing for sufficient acclimatization by means of a couple base camp progressions from now until then. Get this -- it costs $30,000 US to arrange a climb here on the Tibetan side. On the Nepalese side it is even more, a rumored $50,000 US (the fee is higher, the climb is easier). Rolex is the three gents main sponsor, and evidence of such hung about their wrists. Dana asked a ton of questions -- their route up the face, time, methods, equipment. All of it I found interesting but it left me as soon as it hit my ears.

Apparently, the first climber to scale Everest on the Tibetan side was done in 1980 when the Chinese began opening it up. The man did it by himself in two days -- his superior conditioning and knowledge of climbing being his assets. Then a few years later, two gents scaled it again by means of a different path up the face -- they did it in 39 hours, then slid down the entire mountain on their bums in 3.5 hours! The snow condition during the monsoon season allowed for it. Most climbs of Everest are during the month of May.

Having slept in Passum that night, the next day (June 26) somehow our truck made it over the Pass again. We caught a ride with an army truck over the pass to Chay, avoiding the walk. The night of the 26th we stayed in the town of Shegar where comes this late night entry, 11:25pm --

The hardest part of the tour has been completed. Though I know the tour is going to be fairly uncomplicated now that we are back on a main highway, I can't help but already miss the excitement of the unexpected. Of being prepared to scale passes, walk out of valleys, you know -- the exhausting effort which brings satisfaction, the pain which gives pleasure, work and accomplishment. Having pushed my limits then waking up to push them farther. I don't think I have had that much fun since Pakistan's mania tour!

The restaurant this evening, after our weekly wash, was the reason for my opening line (which was: "Wow, it's boggling to approach a larger, more organized and stocked town."). Chinese dishes -- like pork -- shelves stocked, pop and other refreshments, toilet paper (!), soaps, shampoos, jams -- a real store! Variety! Florence's cola sprayed all over her (a warning to me), the driver was well sloshed on his few beer, eating three huge plates of food by himself.

We all sat around joking about he last couple days' events, such as the driver: "It's 70 km to Rombuk -- we're not going to make it!" (he cries, on the verge of pulling his hair out). Or watching the driver ramming the gear stick, trying to get it to stay in first gear. At times having to hit it with all he's got, adding the classic line of "Chinese vehicles suck. Japanese vehicles are good" (our driver was Chinese). Or every time we came across a radio or TV, Anthony would translate for us the characters' lines (Anthony could not speak a word of Chinese) "I am sorry, we cannot issue you a permit to Lhasa. You need a permit." Or the dogs along the way have been interesting. The one in the Passum public toilet proved to surprise even me! He had fallen through the hole in the ground. As I was doing my thing he jumped up trying to get out. Or the staring squads of Tibetans in every village. All of them asking, with mouths salivating, for our empty plastic water bottles as if the emptiness in each could be converted to gold.

June 28, 1995. Written in review of June 27 --

What a day yesterday! Finally managing to piece the truck together, after lunch on main street Shegar, we sped to the highway. Made it a fair ways before the first abrupt stop, then the stops became increasingly frequent, the wrench and screwdriver making return stage appearances time and again, oil being poured out, mechanical bits coming undone. One time I think we spent several hours pulled over. I got bored of reading about Planet Tibet, so I took to one of the fields roadside, found an nice pad of green grass, and listened to the tinkers and baas of the herds being led along the hillsides as I drifted in and out of sleep.

By 8:20pm we had reached the top of the Lama-la pass (5220m), snapped a few photos, then whisked down the valley road to here, the town and war zone of Lhtzse. The Friendship Highway has been demolished and is being re-done in these parts, so imagine us driving though fields (desert fields) in the dark trying to find the right path to make it to town. The whole area is flooded, roads seemed to drift off in every direction, and then we hit this bridge which was on the verge of collapsing, literally. Well, after backing down on trying to cross it, tempers began to flare: inpatient, tired -- both the driver and Dana ignited into quarrel. The driver said "Enough!", picked this kid off the 'street' and we managed to find our way to a hotel without any problems after that. Well, I mean the road maze. Hotel price was 30 yuan, and after more discussion all agreed to pay and get the damn day over with. Nice rooms though.

Then the dog "Mimi" disappeared. After a brief search we gave up, headed for the restaurant across the 'street' and stuffed our faces full of Chinese dishes. Tempers died, smiles appeared and -- as stomachs filled -- friends we became once again. Pig's snout, ears, tongues -- cauliflower, eggrolls, beansprouts, salted vegetables, egg soup, fried rice -- you name it, we ate it. The party died shortly after midnight and we all gratefully collapsed on our beds to end a loooong day.

June 29, 1995. Spending a few days in Lhtzse, "Mimi" the meal resurfaced for a while but then mysteriously disappears again. At long last the truck is 'fixed'. The pup is left behind as lost.

July 1, 1995. An entry written on the village and monastery of Sakya seen the previous day --

Having arrived at the Sakya monastery shortly before 2:00 pm, I did not get to see much besides wandering around the perimeter walls to snap a few photos. When I heard that the main building (temple) opened at 4:00 pm for pilgrims to enter I took to the town. Had a bite to eat with the others, then crawled up the rocks into the village heights, snapped a few street photos, then by 4:30 was walking through the monastery doors.

The other pilgrims (Tibetans) were all older -- those who would remember the Dalai Lama's departure from Tibet. I followed them first to the left chamber which was filled with colors. Apart from natural light through the doorway and some high windows allowing strings of light to enter the chamber, the place was dark. It provided a very mystical and awe-inspiring sensation, accenting the towering pictures of the walls, the hundreds of miniature statues on shelves (climbing 40 feet or so to the ceiling), and the huge central figures four or five times my height -- gazing into the 'ocean of wisdom'. Supporting pillars were covered in various colored cloth, seats lingered for those occasions when pilgrims would too -- but not this time.

Following the older crowd I traced a route though the left chamber as they threw rice, deposited moneys, spoke prayers, prostrated, and bought paper flags. Finished with the left chamber we crossed the courtyard into the right chamber. This was the one to take my breath away. Lit like the first, with only threads of sunlight sneaking in from the small ceiling windows, three huge chortens were the main display surrounded by hundreds of smaller ornaments, hangings, idols, stands, pictures, paintings. Fantastically beautiful, one of the most impressive displays of religion I've seen in my life. Every inch of wall was smothered in art.

Once completed the chamber route, we again filed out into the central courtyard and entered the central chamber where a huge Buddha (and other statues) pierced us with his gaze. Ritual continued as like with the first two chambers. The final punch to the whole circuit was being allowed into the back of this chamber, into the library. For a good 100m (?) in length, 40 feet in height, books were stacked. Book upon book upon book behind a mesh wire. Scriptures accumulated over centuries all piled into one massive collection. Again, only strands of light peeked through the dust-covered windows high overhead. The one common thought to strike the five of us (who were all together again): the warehouse scene in the closing frames of the movie Indian Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Books layered with years of dust, some metal-covered. Had it all been translated? Were there copies? How had this whole complex survived the Chinese Cultural Revolution?

With such thoughts, our driver hurriedly pulled us out of Sakya and towards Shigatse. Radiator fixed, we made good time, arriving just after 11:00pm. There were even paved sections of highway! One thing of particular notice, the country and town people became much more appealing as we approached the more settled populations. Cleaner, brighter, healthier looking. Excuse me, I have a town to see …

Later on that day, 3:20pm --

From the restaurant, danced though the market streets -- I saw nothing but manufactured 'garbage' from other countries (Nepal, India). Not even a simple bracelet made of Tibetan spine to buy. I quickly found out that Shigatse's monastery opened at four so I took to the hills, stumbled on to the pilgrim circuit of the town. People have painted the rocks with Buddhist images.

Notes on the Shigatse monastery, 4:22pm --

The first building housed the 27m high statue of Buddha. Considering I'm approximately 1.8m high myself, it's a towering 15 times higher than me. The second sky temple housed three Halloween looking types (of statues) -- excellent faces. I wonder how they built these idols -- poured then pieced together in sections? Now in the Great Tenth Panchen Lama's Guilded Stupa Sisumnamgyal. Surrounding a high stupa, giving its admirers a neck ache looking up at it, the ceilings are coated in mandalas, the walls with fiery demons in various postures, and a thousand Buddhas cover the extra. The fourth chamber along the circuit housed a poorer man's model of number three -- needs reconditioning, at least the wall murals do. Now, in the moment of climax, in the courtyard of the Great Hall; as the book reads "The Grand Hall -- it's opulent tomb of the fourth Panchen Lama, containing 85kg of gold and masses of jewels."

July 2, 1995, visiting the town of Gyantse. "Gyantse Kumbum: a magnificent tiered structure now unique in the Buddhist world. Built 1440 AD. The stupa rises over four symmetrical floors and is surmounted by a gold dome that rises like a crown over four sets of eyes that gaze serenely out in the cardinal directions of the compass." A 10:19pm entry --

G'day. Broke Gyantse's limits by 1:30pm. Crawled out of lunch by three, in the monastery by four. Oh yeah, chewed on a chicken's feet at lunch. The driver ate the whole head. Another feast. The monastery had 108 chambers or mini-temples filled with murals and idols. Early on I took to rummaging through the money piles of donations, exchanging larger bills for smaller ones to supplement my Chinese collection. Found some nice ones. Oh yeah, the temple was okay too. The top tier with four huge chapels was the best. Mandala heaven, beautiful art work. From the monastery I scaled the Dzong's (town fortress) heights to have a 360 degree view of the town, the monastery and the valley. Descended to the town afterwards to watch people.

By July 4 we had entered Lhasa, capital city of Tibet (province). As it came to be written: "Lhasa -- a city … which has blown away all our previous 'dusty', 'unpaved', 'unlit', 'backwards' conceptions. This is a city proper all right, including the massive Yak Hotel where we stay as well as a flashy Holiday Inn a few kilometers down the road. 2:47pm --

Just downed a Yak Burger. We're at the Hard Yak Café in the Holiday Inn. Now we're going in for a banana split in the next shop over.

July 5 we said goodbye to our driver with one last feast --

… the last supper -- octopus, pig pieces (unidentifiable), peppers, more chicken heads, and lots of other goodies. Toasts, last quips, and chop-stick action to round out a couple weeks of adventure. With the good-byes over the five of us closed out the day with cheesecake at Tashi's.

July 7, with the group dissolved and returned to singular status, 7:54pm --

From the bank I took a stroll behind the Potala Palace to take a couple of photos, then turned my attention to the Post Office to mail off some Nepal postcards. I met two Tibetans, one who speaks very good English, while I was parked on the sidewalk watching the shoe repairers. A quick exchange, I didn't think much more about it. I moved on, made some photocopies. I noticed the Chinese businessman give his near-empty soup bowl to the Tibetan kids hanging around outside as a convenient garbage for him, then he laughed with the shop peoples. Interesting, the Tibetans have been reduced to beggars.

From there, my headache growing, I made my way to Tashi's to eat some grub. Lo and behold -- the two Tibetans. The one who speaks good English -- she's from Calgary. Born in India in 1962, emigrated to Canada in 1987, this is the first time she's been in her homeland. She leaves Tibet tomorrow so our meeting was only a one shot affair. She mentioned several times how much Tibetans would appreciate me being active vocally in Canada about the conditions in Tibet. She too thought North American Indians resembled the Tibetans -- historical similarities, clothing, facial features.

She went on to discuss eating habits, praying, purification rituals, yak butter candles in the temples (symbolic of wanting the light to shine in all peoples' minds), village conditions, prisons. It is all too obvious that Tibetans are second class citizens in their own land. A fact reinforced by employment statistics I'm sure -- only Chinese-speaking Tibetans get decent jobs with the Chinese. The Chinese military does village tours every so often to tell the locals to obey, basically saying: "We can do anything we want. Listen. If you want your monasteries open, keep your mouths shut." Tibet, for the Chinese, is about resources and living space. The loudspeakers which broadcast during the day in various towns and cities is propaganda.

During her time in Tibet 25 days were spent in a village outside Lhasa. The rest of the time she visited surrounding monasteries around Lhasa (4 days) and stayed in Lhasa itself with family. She spoke of how many people in the villages had little or nothing of nutritional quality to eat. In many villages clean water did not exist. Local people needed to get permits to travel between villages. As for the prisons, they are packed. One could pay money to be let out of prison for murdering somebody, but to speak out against Chinese rule constituted a permanent position in a cell.

It was unfortunate, but as she spoke my headache kept pounding harder, until by the end of our talk I was ready to keel over in pain. She paid for my meal (she said it was a substitute as she would have liked to invite me to a family supper, but as this was her last day it would be a little too personal -- I agreed), we exchanged addresses, then off they scooted.

Her visa took six months to obtain from the Chinese consulate in Ottawa: "you can enter Tibet June 1. You must leave by July 13. We will give you a visa as long as you keep your mouth shut when you get back." Throughout our conversation she was repeatedly looking around, lowering her voice. It is a well-known fact in the backpacker world that Lhasa is filled with plain-clothes spy personnel, including the hotels we stay in.

We can't have anyone speaking against Chairman Mao now, can we?