In the previous century, China absorbed Tibet, similar to what the US and other imperial nations have done: take over (usually by force) another nation, country, culture, creed... The actions of these nations perfectly define imperialism: ”the policy of extending the rule rule or authority of an empower or nation over foreign countries, or of acquiring and holding colonies and dependencies”. I write these words as facts, not as judgments; it is too late for criticism and living as a guest in the country of China, I reaffirm “I love China!”
I’m stilll researching the absorption of Tibet and all the other “ethnic minorities” (China’s terminology, not mine. I prefer to call them individual ethnic groups or tribes or ...?) that live on land that is politically deemed China. Again, similar to US history and policy, in that First Nation-Native Americans are made up of a multitude of cultures, creeds, and origins— they can’t be called “Indians” or even the same “tribe”. The Cherokee vary from the Lakota as much as the Khampas are unique from the Yis on this side of the world. In essence, if the governing political borders of western China were invisible, Kangding all to its west could be named after the most populous creeds in those lands. While I don’t have firm or accurate statistics on dates and defined political borders, I can explain this much: Kangding and denizens west are largely populated by the individual ethnic groups and Tibetans, with the Han Chinese being a smaller portion of the population. Of course, this seems to change daily, just like Austin, which is now dominated by Californians and Coloradans. The former area of Tibet is now called the Tibetan Autonomous Region (TAR), whereas parts of the provinces that border TAR, such as Sichuan, Yunnan, and Qinghai, are designated as Tibetan Autonomous Prefectures (TAP). Both appellations recognize the majority “ethnic minority” population of these regions. I can’t even begin to discuss Mongolia and Xinjiang. I am still learning about the cultures, the ethnic groups, and the histories of this part of Asia, so if any of this is outdated or inaccurate, give me more time to research and correct myself. The point of all this is to inform you all why I claim my travels are to Tibet; simply, this is because the regions I visit are dominated by ethnic groups of non-Han Chinese that were once ruled by Tibetans and various other groups, but which are now under Chinese dominion. Just because the US took over parts of Mexico doesn’t make the people of the land any less Mexican, if you don’t count the extinction of culture of time if it is not tightly guarded. I love all that I am learning about this area and its people—all its people! They are all wonderful!
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Written during my stay at "Primitive Trade Place Inn" , aka, GuoZhuang Nan Wu Hao Boutique Inn, Kangding. Tuesday June 19, 2018 I felt surprised at the deep wanderings of my mind the past few days—but should not be surprised. My mind was free of stress and clutter and distraction, so I was able to ponder more important life topics. I’ve been thinking about concepts I hold about how I should be; about how life should be. I think about all the thoughts that move through my head during the day; some of which I am unaware and become negative thought patterns, some of which I consciously create that repeat those patterns. I know that when I am more present and practicing awareness and meditation, that I can catch those thoughts and turn them around. I recognize that many of the fears I have are unfounded and self-created, and reflect my own self-concept, rather than the reality of what others perceive or think or don’t think. The expectations I have of myself are too high, sometimes unrealistic, definitely non-compassionate, and stem from cultural, familial, and societal “shoulds”. After all these years of inner work, I still struggle with a positive self-image—mainly physically. I like pretty much everything about myself and how my life has turned out, excluding my body and weight. This has always been a struggle. Even at my thinnest, strongest, and most athletic; when I am Spidey-ing up climbing walls and running 10 miles, hiking mountains and cycling 20 miles, I do not accept my physical self. When I think of all the years wasted and all the activities undone due to poor body-image—for decades; in fact, for the majority of my life— it saddens me and makes me angry. Sure, I wish I had saved more money and had more of a “nest egg” built up, but I’ve had an incredible life and I pursue my dreams and achieve my goals, so I have no true regret there. I wish to go back and undo that horribly toxic last relationship I was in, but I also grew from it, and had experiences that I might not have had, and here I am in, living in China. So while I still have angst and despise my decisions at that time, the regret has been slowly seeping away the last few years. That leaves me with only two regrets, if they are even regrets. (I regret an authentic feeling anyway? Or simply the resulting thought from an action. Hmm, have to do some deeper work on that question.) My brother and the affects of body-shaming and body-rejection on the past 3+ decades of my life.
More on this later: it’s time for breakfast and a trip to the Kangding airport! Click "Read More" to the right...
Monday June 18 After a fitful sleep of 12 hours—I don’t know how that happened when I set my alarm for 6am— I awoke with a start to bright sunshine, loud Chinese voices blaring down the hallway, and a painfully endemic and sunburned body. My fingers and face are swollen, and the tissue around my eyes is so filled with fluid, it looks like tumorous sacs were implanted above and below my eyeballs in the night. I knew I was dehydrated, when a headache came on inn the late afternoon, toward the end of our hike, that would not stop; it grew more painful as I went to bed despite the liter of fluids I forced down. I think a combination of the altitude, sunburn, and not drinking enough—oh, and not eating enough have been my downfall. The exact same happened in Lijiang after a day of walking in hot sunshine and not eating frequently. Lesson learned twice. Drink more, eat more, and get some sunscreen! I drank a liter while we were out, but it was not enough. I should have paid attention to the fact that I didn’t need to pee all day. When we returned, the dark yellow brown indicated that definitely, I was dehydrated. Making it up does not work! I write this to warn all of you! The temperature was mild and slightly chilly all day, which made my thirst lessen in comparison to a sweaty-hot day, when I would drink more consistently. But the first thing I noticed this morning was swollen fingers; I could feel the swelling in my eyes without even looking in the mirror. I remained in my room for a few hours, missed chatting with the Brits, but finally emerged from my room slightly less swollen. I declined NuWi’s offer to go visit another grassland area; I need to take it very easy and keep it low key today. I couldn’t decide where to go first, but I took a new route I discovered on Zhilam’s map, and it took me down the back alleys and through narrow neighborhood sidewalks, to the street across from Anju si Monastery. When I walked south to the Tibetan Traditional Medicine Museum, it was closed because of the holiday. Since it wasn’t meal time, I sat in Himalayan coffee again for a while, and enjoyed a cappuccino (35yuan) and a slice of cake (25yuan), before walking across town, north to the bus station. I found new shopping areas, where I purchased some yak jerky in a local store (rather than a tourist spot), and walked along the river until I came to the bus station. Again, I had to ignore all the taxi hawkers, man, they are obnoxious even though I know they are trying to make a living too. I love seeing all the darker skin tones of the Tibetans (and possibly other ethnic tribes) that create the confluence of culture here in Kangding. They have such beautiful skin; it’s not the falsified death-mask white that the Han Chinese revere so much. The Bus Terminal turns out to be for travel between cities, not to the airport, and I am directed (after 10 minutes of back and forth with my translator app) to a local hotel from which the airport bus departs and arrives. After learning that the airport bus leaves in the morning at 0930, I head back to town, and end up on another street full of tourist shops, but farther from the main area, so offering more local items too, like shoes and clothes. I really wanted to buy a stuffed toy yak. The jewelry and prayer beads are something else too, with their exquisite detail, high quality, and beautiful design. I haven’t been in the mood to shop and buy a bunch of stuff, even though I really want to buy all of the necklaces and rings and wrist cuffs; I’ll buy next time. The altitude and sun must have really taken it out of me for me to have little desire to buy! As we come stumbling back down Juiliansan toward Lhamo Tse Gompa from our off-trail bushwhacking hike, the deep bass call of monks and their horns beckon us back to the monastery. I feel honored to have observed such a ceremony--to see these monks in their finery and regalia, to see the worship and honor enacted out by the those watching.
Every visit I make to Kangding fills me with awe and offers spiritual gifts! Lhamo Tse Gompa from the path above. Breakfast: unwrapping the banana leaves like a Birthday gift offers a sweet holiday rice cake, a special treat for the Dragon Boat Festival holiday ! Not knowing what was to occur the day ahead, I wish I had eaten more! The hike begins after a short trek above town to the Gompa (monastery) to visit our monk friend and "pay respects", according to Nu Wi, my friend who owns the guesthouse where I always stay! Khamding (Kangding) is the historical border town that once separated China from Tibet. Part of the Tea Horse Road, where you still discover a mix of ancient and modern, Han Chinese and Khampas. Kangding and the west beyond are historically and culturally Tibetan lands, filled with Tibetans and other ethnic groups -- mainly Khampas. Although this area has been colonized by China, I refer to Western Sichuan as Kham, Tibet, for cultural clarity and out of respect for the colonized peoples. We left the monastery before the official prayers began , to visit a monk in another ornate room, defined by gold and red artwork at which it was my turn to stare. People were giving the monk money—lots of money!!— and writing short verse on strips of paper. Prayers, I presume. The room was filled with food: elegant towers of fruit and bowls of candies, nuts, and seeds. The monk spoke a few words of perfectly-enunciated English, but I mainly listened to their conversation and gazed at the beauty of the room, firmly deciding that I want to fill my home with this beautiful Tibetan furniture and decor. If I could create a temple within my home, I would do so. Would it make my awareness of compassion greater and more frequent? Being in a temple that is the site of over 1000 years of prayers and worship certainly make me aware of my spiritual desires and the aspect of life that I miss so much because I lack discipline and get distracted by the small things that seem so big. In my pensiveness, I know that if I return to my daily practice of pranayama, asana, and meditation, that a focus on what is truly important will pervade my life—and improve my life and attitude and outlook. Over the past few years, discipline in my spiritual practice (and actually, many positive habits) has waned in tandem with my exercise habits; decreasing inversely to my energy and get-up-and-go. Sigh. But back to the great things in life, like hiking up a hill and getting out of breath and getting lost in underbrush and getting scraped and scratched and bruised and blackened by mud! Yay! We stayed on the path for some time, going up and up, switchback after switchback. I am either really out of shape (probably) or affected by the the altitude (probably) or both (definitely). Luckily, my hiking partner moves slowly, and we agreed beforehand to go slow and stop for many photos. The town below us gets smaller and smaller, and the Paomashan ("Paoma" = name, "shan"=mountain) temple, which was so high above us, comes into a parallel view. We move up and around the temple, and then past it, to the point where I stopped last time-- on my first trip to Kangding. Here clings a garden plot impossibly slanted downward, protected by a rough-hewn fence. A few hours later and even the mountaintop-clinging clouds seem not too far off. The path narrows and is muddied from the previous night’s rain. Flowers are everywhere and spring is still springing on this mountain. A multitude of choices are before us, as numerous paths lead off the main one; in fact, the main path no longer seems like it, but rather, just one of numerous horse and wildlife side paths. Just after noon, we are at 2800m (8400 ft.); I don’t recall that I have ever hiked at this altitude. And I’m sure we have come up a thousand feet, because we are just going up and up and up—there is no flat ground that offers reprieve to my calves and glutes! I notice the pressure here is low, just over 700mb, perhaps I can blame the altitude for my huff-puff-huff-puff-racing heart. The town below is now a speck in miniature and only rarely viewed as we move deeper into the forest. From Lhamo Tse, we head up and up ... and up! Midway up Juliianshan (Juilian Mountain) we come across ruins! We come across ruins at 2919m (9577 ft.) just prior to 1:00pm -- just shy of 10,000 feet! -- and pause for some fun picture opportunities. Several paths divert from the roofless walls that now encircle a carpet of grass, and NuWen picks one which turns our arduously uphill hike into an arduous but true adventure! For the next half hour, we scramble; bentover and nearly on hands and knees along an animal trail—and I think sometimes no trail! Branches grab at my backpack and hold me back and discourage forward movement, as I push and strain to move uphill, now against immense friction of thorny scrubs and pines. We slip and slide upward on muddy rain-created- trails and I wonder if I will fall. But then I prevent my mind from following that path and I speak determinedly to myself: “Just don’t fall!”. I decide against falling, and do not, luckily, for I would end up scraped beyond belief in the thorny underbrush, and would not stop rolling downhill for a long, long time. Or until I hit a tree! When we finally escape upward to another animal trail—this time for taller mammals like us—I am whipped, muddy, and bleeding. While not enjoyable, this part of our trek has left me feeling accomplished. Speaking of bushwhacking: I wish I had my Caribbean machete; however, I could have used it! Even Pooh Bear, who has accompanied me across oceans and continents is muddied and wet. It’s rather amusing, considering I had to do all the hard work while he just hung there on his hook, getting thrashed by thorns and banged by branches. I am grateful he is still attached! Finally, we find a small slanted clearing to rest and drink and snack at the highest point of our hike, 2975m. I can’t believe we’ve only moved upward about 1500ft, because it feels like it should be several thousand. But I am not used to the measurement in meters so my tired mind converts this 400m climb into feet without tripling, and I am disappointed and surprised that we have only climbed 400 ft.!!! Later, when I am hydrated, I am able to recall simple mathematics, and realized we have had a much greater—and more impressive elevation gain of 1500 ft.! No wonder I am exhausted and my hip flexors are screaming! We finally discover a dirt road around 2:45pm (nearly 5 hours after our start), which becomes the obviously oft-used track to get to the grasslands on the other side of Juiliansan. If we had followed this boring two-track earlier in the morning, we would have easily reached our goal destination. But after hiking for 4 hours... and now with the fearful knowledge that we also have to descend the same amount, I decline the option to travel further and find the higher, larger grasslands that we had originally sought. Despite hardships, I am happy that we took the more difficult and steep switchbacks, and then created our own path, for the walk down is easy on this two-track, but also very BLAH, with only the view to distract from the mud lane. On our path up, we encountered flowers and fauna and were surrounded by pine-fresh breezes, heart-stopping views, and the feel-good that results from overcoming. If we had taken that two-track mud road, yes, we would have arrived at the grasslands with ease, and in a shorter amount of time, but the effort, impetuousness, and adventure of unknown trails are always more enticing than an over-traveled, crowded, direct route. In fact, we had not seen one other human our entire hike, until we began descending said mud road.
We discovered another house in ruins; stone walls, coming down, roofless, but this one surrounded by prayer flags. The doorway was blocked with thorny scrubs and branches—the Tibetan version of a “Do Not Enter!” sign? A small shrine with figurines was set against the far wall. Perhaps an important or revered monk had resided here at one time... I wonder how long this dwelling has existed... I wonder what it looked like originally... I wonder if I could simply squat somewhere like this in hidden mountain passes and create my own solitary dwelling. Click "Read More " to the right, for additional photos... Dardo, Dartsendo,...now Kangding. Historically the Kham region of Tibet, ruled by kings and warriors, now part of the Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, a politically defined area of PRC east of the Tibetan Autonomous Area, also within the political borders of PRC. I’m always amazed that I feel like I am prosaically “going home”—or arriving home— in certain geographical places. Why is that? This feeling gushes from deep within my soul —or another lifetime— when I arrive to Kangding, is similar to what I feel in New Orleans. My psyche sighs in relief; I feel at ease, I feel hopeful, I feel happiness. It’s a unique feeling, and infrequent. When I look out the aeroplane window at miles and miles of alpine peaks, as far as I can see—there are ridges covered with snow alternating with darkly forested green, split by lonely roads in deep valleys; some filled with blue water from melted snow or a small village— a word forms in my mind. Only one word, but imbued with everything my brain is registering, flying from optic nerve to conscious realization: “Impossible”. It’s impossible that this is real. It seems I am in some incredible landscape painting, or seeing a larger-than-life outdoor magazine cover that’s been pasted on the plane window. From this view, you FEEL the earth. I don’t know another way to express it. It’s IMPOSSIBLE, and I FEEL the earth. Our short flight takes only 35 minutes, but 10 minutes prior to landing I feel the disorienting effects of altitude, equally difficult to describe. A feeling of pressure and not-quite-dizzy dizziness. An indescribable feeling of not having holistic control over my body’s vestibular system. Even my eyesight is affected. Then a headache begins, mildly. We landed around 40 minutes ago, and the bus is only now leaving at 11:38. Oh geez, I think we have a driver in-training, because the guy sitting next to him in the jump seat seems to be instructing him and the driver just scraped through the gears a few times. Great... will this be as terrifying as my last trip in the minibus from the airport, the day my flight back to Chengdu was cancelled? Everything that was graveyard-white is now scrubby-green with patches of white, even here at what appears to be the top of the world. The pressure on my body is rough; I’m so glad we will descend. It’s like my heart and lungs are being squeezed, though it’s not unbearable but noticeable. I wonder how I will fare at higher altitudes when I eventually venture to towns further into the high latitudes. Just before noon, we just pass the mountain with the boulders that spell out “The Love Song of Kangding”, signifying the famous mountain and its eponymous song. This bus ride is a heck of a lot less scary than the minibus ride last time! The driver goes slower and is more cautious. There is no ventilation in the bus, and it is hot and stuffy with the bright sun, at such a high altitude. Of course, it is interesting (well, on this trip I can say “interesting”) to be passed by another bus on a curve. The other bus passes both our bus and another tractor-trailer truck. Also, I can’t get over all the cyclists slowly pedal-trudging up the mountain pass; what endurance! I wonder how far they ride between overnights, considering all the switchbacks, elevation gain, weather variance—not to mention all the traffic! I think it would be fun, terrible, and an extraordinary accomplishment! Click "Read More" to the right... |
iGallivantGina The Great in the country of The Great Wall!
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