Tibet is a country I have always dreamed of visiting, ever since I ventured tantalisingly close while trekking in Nepal in the early 1990s. I wish at that time my friends and I had stretched our resources and itinerary to include this mountain kingdom, as it is fast losing its identity.
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China’s claims on Tibet go unchallenged these days, even the Dalai Lama has virtually conceded, and the Chinese government has taken to ‘regenerating’ its neighbour with unbridled vigour.
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The main tool for subjugation and assimilation is no longer the gun but the residence permit. At least 7.5 million Chinese live in Tibet alongside 6 million Tibetans, ensuring that Tibetans are permanently disenfranchised, completing the process the Chinese army began 40 years ago.
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What can be certain is that the ‘liberation’ in 1959, and subsequent oppression, caused the deaths of 1.2 million Tibetans, one fifth of the population, and destroyed virtually all of Tibet’s rich cultural heritage. Prior to 1959 there were 6000 monasteries, now only a handful remain.
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The history of Tibetan independence is particularly nebulous. China’s claim to Tibet is based on the boundaries of the Mongol Empire. Tibet sees this as spurious and they have a point. It would be similar to India laying claim to Burma because they were both ruled by the British. China argues that in 1951 Tibet signed an agreement to pave the way for 'peaceful liberation', however the treaty was imposed after an invasion and was signed under the threat of further force.
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It is not only the people that have suffered under Chinese authority; 25% of Tibet’s forests have been clear-cut in the last 30 years, earning the Chinese government $54 billion and handing Tibet a legacy of flooding. Tibet's rich mineral endowment is swiftly mined by hordes of Chinese workers, offered double wages in a bid to encourage colonisation. Similar incentives are offered to Chinese businesses, who benefit from tax exemptions and cheap loans, ensuring a significant advantage over their Tibetan counterparts. Chinese is now the main language and China not only wields the political and military power but also controls the cultural and religious life of the people.
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This is not a particularly heart-warming introduction but the overriding feeling when visiting Tibet is that it is being consumed by China and sadly that spectre overshadows everything.
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I travelled to Tibet in early June 2007 to spend two weeks with my Mother, who had arrived the week before from England. We were unlucky with our timing. The previous month a group of American visitors had misguidedly unfurled a ‘Free Tibet’ banner at Everest Base Camp. This duly provoked the wrath of the Chinese authorities, who responded by cracking down on independent travel. We had an ordeal obtaining permits for Tibet, finally managing to secure a 3 day pass for the capital, Lhasa, and hoping to ride our luck for the remainder.
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Lhasa today is a combination of modern Chinese and ancient Tibetan; the latter being subsumed by the sprawling homogeneity of the former; reminiscent of a fig tree strangling an ancient oak. Construction is pervasive and the newly dried concrete bears signs in large bold Chinese script.
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We stayed in the old Tibetan heart which still radiates charm from every brightly coloured door and lintel. Amidst an intoxicating atmosphere, ranks of rheumy-eyed pilgrims shuffle along, whirling prayer wheels and murmuring mantras. Juniper is tossed into huge incense burners, the smoke is said to create a link between man on earth and the gods in the sky and their timeless devotion provides the onlooker with a living connection to the past.
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Tibetans show their religious devotion by walking in a clockwise direction around a holy place, this circumambulation is know as a kora. Many pilgrims have walked for months from every corner of this vast country to perform the kora around the Jokhang; situated in the heart of old Lhasa it is the country’s holiest temple. Waking up at dawn I would join the procession of pilgrims prostrating themselves outside the thousand year old temple and drink in the sights, sounds and smells of this bustling medieval bazaar.
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Following unwelcome attention from the Red Guards during the Cultural Revolution the Jokhang has been perfectly restored to its former magnificence. The smell of yak butter lamps and spiced incense rises with muffled prayers to swirl around the silk thangkas hanging reassuringly from the rafters. In the dim interior, candlelight renders the implacable radiance of Buddha from every corner.
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From a glint in the darkness I discerned a prayer wheel propelling itself directly towards us. As it approached, the fissured face of an old woman began to materialise, she thrust out her empty hand and grabbed hold of my Mother’s bosom. She applied a firm squeeze, as though checking the ripeness of an avocado, before disappearing with a wheezy chuckle.
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We set off for Drepung monastery on the outskirts of Lhasa. The monastery is home to 800 monks, a mere fraction of the 10,000 who lived here before the Chinese invasion. The Chinese government has since placed ceiling limits on the number of monks allowed at each religious institution. Constructed in 1416, its white-washed walls hermetically seal a simple world of daily tasks, routine prayers, meditation and study. The second, third and fourth Dalai Lamas are buried here and should reincarnation return them, they would notice little change.
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From Drepung we ventured to Sera Monastery where the monks hold daily debating sessions. The sessions take place in a shaded courtyard during the late afternoon and assume the form of heated stylised arguments that could almost be a verbal form of martial art. Each monk in turn plays provoker and defender in an exercise of controlled aggression and studied restraint. Such virtues will be useful in the face of Chinese hostility. It is a remarkable sight, with gesticulating monks forming whorls of scarlet as they spin around clapping their palms in emphasis of their arguments.
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No trip to Tibet is complete without a visit to Potala Palace, at one time the tallest building in the world and still one of the most recognisable. Built in the 1600s this imposing structure dominates Lhasa; seemingly thrust into the air by an act of nature, it sits as a dormant reminder of Tibet’s once great culture. In the high altitude, gasping tourists mingle with sprightly pilgrims as they clamber up the precipitous ramparts to explore the vacant home of Tibet‘s exiled leader.
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Inside, we were directed through the sumptuous interior in an anti-clockwise direction; a typical affront by the Chinese authorities to defy religious tradition.
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In 1995 the Dalai Lama selected a six year old boy to assume the title of Panchen Lama, second only to himself in the Tibetan hierarchy. The boy and his family disappeared almost immediately and haven’t been seen since. China subsequently appointed their own candidate for Panchen Lama, who makes puppet-like appearances at Communist Party conventions. Many believe the same will happen when the time comes for the 14th Dalai Lama to choose his own successor. It is a crime in Tibet to possess or sell any image of their exiled spiritual leader; statuettes and postcards of their bête noire, Chairman Mao, are freely available.
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After a few days in Lhasa we decided to take a chance on independently visiting Everest Base Camp. We naively hoped that by taking public transport and wrapping scarves around our heads we might evade the permit checkers.
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On the Nepalese side, weeks of spectacular trekking are rewarded with a partially obscured view of the mighty mountain, but in Tibet you can drive up to base camp in a tour bus and share its unbridled magnificence in the company of dozens of day-trippers.
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For 250km the roads were clogged by Chinese army vehicles which left us in no doubt that we were travelling through an occupied country. We made it as far as Shigatse, Tibet’s second largest town; this was to be the furthest we would go. The only mountain that lay before us was one of bureaucratic paranoia, with permits instead of prayer flags. After a quick trip to Tashilhunpo monastery, the largest functioning monastic institution in Tibet, we duly returned to Lhasa.
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To replace Everest we embarked upon a wonderful five day trek from Ganden monastery to Samye monastery, taking us through the spectacular and isolated domain of yak herders and their families.
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On the first night we camped beside a yak herder’s tent made from, not surprisingly, yak hair. The lives of the herders and their yaks are tightly interwoven. Yaks provide clothing, accommodation, transport, meat, cheese, milk and butter. The butter is also used to fuel lamps and their dung is used to fuel fires. For all this, their owners provide them with a bell.
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We popped in to see our neighbours for a cup of bo cha (Tibetan tea). Tibetans drink more tea per capita than any other country (or autonomous region). Yak herders routinely slurp their way through 40 cups per day to combat the dehydration at high altitude. The tea, churned and mixed with butter and salt, is not to everyone's liking. I was unaware that it was customary for my host to continually top up my cup, thus began a lengthly duel of drinking and pouring, which I was destined to lose.
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Yak herders are nomadic and lead their animals to high pasture in the Summer and to lower elevations in the Winter. Fifty years ago there were 1,000,000 wild yaks on the Tibetan plateau, now they have been hunted to around 15,000. The remaining yaks are impacted by mineral mining which leaves less nutritious grass and therefore weaker animals.
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Tibetan nomads have an interesting marriage custom; when an adolescent reaches marriageable age they are matched with a suitable partner; if they approve of their prospective partner an astrologer will announce an auspicious date for the union. On the assigned day, the boy’s family will ride to the girl’s camp to carry her off, but before this happens the families begin a ritual of feigned mutual abuse, verging on violence; this may be drawn out over several days before the girl finally leaves with the boy’s family to start a new life.
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Having slept at 5000m on our first night we were a little groggy the next day but managed to climb over Shioga La (5200m) after breakfast. The trek continued in isolation through immensely raw scenery. Sadly the deserted camping areas were often strewn with litter and our attempts to clear it away were met with incredulous stares from our guides.
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On our penultimate day trekking we spotted some buildings perched precariously a few hundred metres up a cliff face. A vertiginous side-route led to Emalung nunnery, home to a venerable Lama and his cohort of nuns. It offered complete transcendent isolation; a place where Al Quaeda and the credit crunch remained blissfully irrelevant.
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The trek ended with a bumpy ride on a skeletal tractor, disgorging us at Samye monastery. Samye is Tibet’s oldest surviving monastery and home to a magnificent collection of temples, chortens and chapels. Whilst wandering through the grounds I passed a hapless monkey, chained and sitting precariously atop a 30 foot metal pole. Occasionally, passers-by would amuse themselves by shaking the pole to watch the terrified creature cling on for dear life.
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I met a merry group of pilgrims, their flushed faces and extravagant gesturing meant only one thing, the close proximity of chang. Chang is a homemade Tibetan barley beer and is deliciously potent. Needless to say I found myself swept along towards a hazily memorable evening, sporting a cowboy hat and crooning Tibetan folk songs.
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Our final destination was Nam-tso, at an elevation of 4,700m it is the highest saltwater lake in the World. The lake encloses 5 uninhabited islands which were traditionally used as spiritual retreats by pilgrims; they would walk across the ice in Winter (with provisions) and remain there until the ice returned the following year. This commute is no longer permitted under Chinese rule, although it wasn't something I was seriously considering.
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The clear turquoise water, rimmed by 7000m peaks, seemed to radiate the supernal qualities with which the Tibetans attribute it. We lay on the shore in the hot sun and dipped our toes in the icy water, it was a perfect carefree day in an astonishingly beautiful place.
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On my final morning in Tibet I decided to climb one of the hills encircling Lhasa, to watch the sunrise and photograph the city below. A young waiter from our guesthouse kindly offered to accompany me. As we began to climb we were confronted by Chinese police, under orders to prevent people ascending and offering prayers. It was a holy day for Tibetans and therefore a target for persecution.
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My friend concocted a story of mislaid camera equipment and surprisingly we were permitted to carry out a brief search. It was a poignant last morning. We reached the top of the hill as dawn was breaking, illuminating the prayer flags strewn across the ground, like the fallen standards of defeated armies. My friend stood motionless offering his illicit prayers.
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