Motorcycle Hell

Kathmandu has seen an explosion of growth in the last few years. An expanding population (50% of whom are under the age of 15) and a flood of movement from the villages have swelled an already burgeoning urban population to the highest levels the valley has seen thus far. Development has been rapid and unregulated – land that was very recently rice paddies is now new roads and large brand-new homes. Money funneled into homes does not support the creation of new outlying communities, but instead a wide sprawl.

A serious problem here is that roads are too narrow (even new ones) for all the traffic they carry. If lucky, it is a strip of tarmac barely wide enough for two cars to pass, with a soft dusty shoulder a few feet wide. Very quickly the edge of the road erodes away so cars drive half on the dirt or swerve into the middle of the road to catch as much pavement as possible. People walk in the dirt or on the road, and share that space with the many vehicles, carts, sidewalk sellers, and the other trappings of this developing commercial city.

Motorcycles are cheap transportation (relative to cars) and easier to weave around the bad traffic and roads, so they have become wildly popular amongst the middle class of Nepal. Yet they are terribly problematic – the rules of the road are nonexistent and motorcycles force their way through throngs of people in the old city, irregardless of the safety of pedestrians. At times there have been discussions of banning vehicle traffic in the old city during the day. Unfortunately, these talks broke down and nothing has been done. A ban would help a lot, and would be especially appreciated by those of us who go around on foot. Just as important would be a plan for better, wider roads around the city so people have viable alternatives to barreling through narrow streets. And of course some driver education and simple courtesy. We are a long way from that, but I hope to see some change in this direction soon – it is a serious situation, as all who spend time here quickly learn.

Flashback from Tibet

I was warned that Tibet would fade into distant memory quickly when I left — but compared with the pollution of Kathmandu the fresh thin air of the Changthang lingers in my dreams. Pollution is a growing problem in the TAR cities as well, though, for the first time. The Lhasa valley holds a layer of smog over the urban center — visible from outside the city or above. And cities such as Nag Chu in the north, which have been targeted for industrial development, are faring even worse. It seems to me that there is a real opportunity for the strong regulatory apparatus of the TAR to do some benefit for everyone by helping to control growth and pollution.

Power Sharing

After the oppressiveness of life in Tibet, Nepal has felt like a breath of fresh air – colors bright, people smiling and speaking their minds (more or less). Still, there are many problems here and the new government, by all accounts, does not (and may never have) a handle on them.

A lack of electricity is one of the most pressing and obvious issues in Kathmandu. At 10 AM today the power will go out. Perhaps for a few hours, perhaps for longer – I’ve lost track. The grid is so overloaded in the Kathmandu valley that each sector loses power for around 6 hours per day. A friend who owns a small gear-sewing business tells us that this is expected to increase to about 10 hours per day in a few months. He has resurrected a few old-style treadle machines just so he can keep his workers busy during the outages. It’s either that or work only sporadically throughout the day and night as power is available, or buy a generator and pay the added expense of that.

The economic impact is immeasurable – Internet cafes must either generate electricity or close until the power comes on. Shops can stay open, but the products they sell often require electricity. Most cooking is done with gas, but restaurants and homes need light by which to feed hungry eaters. Water may use electricity to pump through buildings. When the power goes out in the evening, everyone leaves their work post-haste – making traffic snarl and slow to a crawl.

To make matters worse, even if a power plant project began development now, it would not be ready for 5 years and by then the growth in demand would have outstripped even the new capacity. Solar panels would be an attractive choice, but the price is well out of most Nepali’s range, for even the most cost-effective Chinese set-up. Let’s hope a solution is found soon, for the good of all the people of the valley.

On a brighter note, it’s Thanksgiving in America. Here’s a little poem:

“A big chicken”, Turkey is to those here
who have never seen such a bird so dear
While I sip dal and rice
You have apple pie, so nice
Your belts buckle no longer, I fear

And on a sadder note, the situation in Bombay is near to many minds here. May it be resolved peacefully and soon.

potting

Our time in Tibet was organized into short jaunts out of Lhasa, with a few days in Lhasa in between. The last trip was three days in Tsang, a region south-west of Lhasa that is home to one of the more fertile areas of Tibet. The Yarlung Tsangpo (Brahmaputra) river valley provides water (though less than it used to), and farming villages in the main valley and many side valleys have been practicing their way of life for centuries. A rich cultural production began as well – textiles, metalwork, pottery, etc. In the fields, herders spin yarn while they walk along.

Having seen hand-made pots in the market in Lhasa, we wanted to meet some potters and learn how the pots are made. The area around Gyantse is one of two or three areas in Tibet in which the pottery is produced, so one day we set off to look for the potters. In Gyantse we began inquiring and after much vague hand-waving and stopping for directions, we found ourselves heading west out of the city. Eventually we picked up an older man named Nyima Dorje, who was a potter himself, and he showed us the way to his village.

Potters gather a rough sandy clay from the hill behind the village and knead it to make it workable. They make many types of pots – we saw braziers, tea pots, butter lamps, and various other dishes and urns being made. Using heavy molds placed on a wheel they hand-spin, they beat out the main shape of the pot and add a base. After letting it dry, they flip the pot over to create the top part. It is very much production pottery, each potter repeating the same step on a number of pots before moving on to the next step. They work with a few simple wooden or metal tools, shaping and adding design. When the pot is complete, it is set aside to dry. Every so often the whole community gets together and fires the pots en masse, in a large fire fueled by peat.

People look older than their years, and the potters are no exception. It isn’t easy making a living with this work – the potters are traditionally considered lower class, and the pots don’t sell for a lot of money (a brazier might fetch 25 yuan, about $3.50). I was happy to see everyone working outside, at least, as clay dust is not good for the lungs. Their story says they have been making pots in this village since the time of Guru Rinpoche.

Most of these traditional arts are unprotected and are facing greater and greater difficulty as junky mass-produced goods dominate the market. It is a certain challenge for everyone involved, to keep the practices alive.

downhill drive

Yesterday morning I woke up at 4700m, in the tiny village of Membu in Tingri, about two thirds of the way between Lhasa and Tibet’s border with Nepal. On the drive we crested 5300m and then descended for mile upon mile. After leaving our Tibetan driver and guide at the border and walking across the bridge to Nepal, we continued to descend — at one point reaching as low as 600m before climbing back into the Kathmandu valley. Back on the subcontinent, things move more slowly, more crowdedly, and more freely. The air and the color of the light are more warm.

First impressions of the time in Tibet run down the basics of the trip – no major mishaps, no hassles by the police, no major injuries or illnesses (my stomach bug never quite taking me down). These things alone make the trip a success. I am truly pleased by some of the pictures I was able to capture, and certainly happy about the places I was able to go and people I was able to meet. But there is so much below this surface, that I am only beginning to process.

It wasn’t hard to keep in touch – I could get on the Internet easily, as there are many Chinese Internet cafes in Lhasa and there is at least one in each county seat (usually an overbuilt, dump of a town with the expected administrative facilities). And, I was lent a SIM card that worked there, so I could even call home. But it was tough to keep up with the blog, as wordpress was usually blocked (though not always, in typical Chinese obfuscated fashion), so I had to post via unformatted email. It was also tough to process into writing much of what I was seeing each day. Now that I am back in Nepal I will try to put together some overall impressions.

Northland

Nam Tso is a lake north of Lhasa, 50 miles wide, 1000 feet deep, and at about 15,500 feet in elevation. It is an ancient place, full of spirituality and mystique. I spent the past week camping on the south and north shores and visiting some of the ancient holy rock formations and sites. One of the goals was to survey some temple ruins and cave paintings — my travel partner has undertaken to document as many sites as possible across Northern Tibet, and though he has visited these places before, he wanted to have a more thorough look around.

The south side of Nam Tso was covered in an early-winter snow, drifted a few feet deep in places. It doesn’t melt up there, but instead blows around and slowly sublimates. It conforms to the wind the same way that sand does. Nomads were rushing to get their herds to grassland, but we saw remains of some animals that didn’t make it.

We headed first to Tashi Do, which is a sacred headland out the south side of the lake. From afar, it looks like an island. The headland itself has been built up by the Chinese — a paved road runs right into the sacred areas and in the summer dozens of tour buses day trip there — but this time of year, and especially this year, the area was pretty deserted. There is a cluster of temporary buildings (though no permanent buildings have been allowed there yet), and a small population that lives in them to support the tourist trade. Big Tibetan dogs live there too, and were endlessly curious about our tents, which we pitched near a mani wall and the site of a footprint of Rangjung Dorje, the third Karmapa.

A few longtime residents of Tashi Do live comfortably in a set of caves on the western side. The cave homes are quite cozy, decorated the same as Tibetan stone houses with a clever wood stove in the middle for heat and cooking and couches and various shelving and niches around. Visiting them, we learn about the conditions for our road ahead and about the increasing government focus and management of the area. It is not so easy for residents and traditional pilgrims there, as it becomes more and more a tour stop-off. Entry fees can be steep, but so far little of the revenue has gone towards preservation or local support.

In the raging wind we turned on a shortwave radio and heard the news of Barack Obama’s dramatic victory. In such a remote and difficult corner of the world, I marvel at the strength of democracy back home.

We left Tashi Do after a day of stormy weather which blew the snow around and closed the pass back towards Lhasa. Fighting our way through drifted snow we made our way around the lake to the north side, to some beautiful headlands and previously unvisited-by-westerners caves. The caves on these headlands were home to many early communities of religious practitioners, both Bon-po and
Buddhist, though the legends co-opt them for themselves. Today they are either deserted or used by nomads for their herds, and many have cave paintings, beautiful and esoteric.

Life is not easy in the north. It is at least 10 degrees colder than Lhasa, remote, with little infrastructure — a road maybe, but no health services and the only schools are in the county seats run by the Chinese. Most people are semi-nomadic, taking herds of yak, sheep, and pashmina goat to seasonal pastures. I watch daughter nurse grandaughter while grandmother looks on. Invited into people’s homes, we are inevitably offered an array of food, whatever they have. Always butter tea served in small bowls, and maybe tsampa (roasted barley flour which each person mixes with butter, dried cheese whey and sugar), delicious homemade yogurt, thukpa (noodle soup with meat), or meat, cabbage and rice. This is pretty much the diet — high energy, but not much green.

Opportunity for Tibetans is low, especially as a minority race without some of the advantages the Chinese have here. We saw many (espeically younger people) on pilgrimage on their way to Lhasa. They travel on the highway that runs north from the city to Nag Chu and Amdo, prostrating the whole way. There isn’t much shoulder so they are often right in the road with the big trucks and buses. We estimated they could travel between 3 and 5 miles each day. Their resolve and devotion is awe-inspiring.

Back in Lhasa, the feeling is tense. Just a few days here, and then back out to the countryside.

Staying warm

Tibet is called the land of snows for good reason, even though the  climate is dry and and trending towards drier (desertification is common in the river valleys and, as with much of the world, glaciers are shrinking at an alarming rate). In the north snow can fall in the summer. Last week, we saw tracings of snow in the central valleys and a few inches in the higher elevations that we visited. In parts of eastern and southern Tibet, reports of somewhere between one foot and a few feet of snow fell. It’s considered good luck, as the moisture is needed.

There are no newspapers here, so news is all grapevine, but I heard that nine people died from the cold as a result of the storm.

Traditionally people wore layer upon layer of wool and sheepskin-lined clothing – long underwear, woven wool trousers, woven wool skirts and overcoats (chubas). The clothing is heavy, thick, bulky, and very warm. And, in this climate nothing else works all that well. New poly-pro layers don’t do a whole lot for a village woman who sits all day sewing, though they might work when she is active. Nuns and monks dress in cheap factory-made, cotton robes – they used to have heavy cloaks – and they look cold. A cold-weather flavor of Western clothing has become fashionable, especially in the cities – trousers, knock-off down jackets, sweaters. Many people mix traditional-style clothing and Western-style clothing, but even the traditional layers are factory-made, with fake fur and polyester instead of wool. Not very warm.

I’ve been gearing up to camp in the north, where there is no shelter from strong winds, the elevation is around 15,000 feet, and the daytime temperature will easily be 15 degrees less than that of Lhasa (maybe freezing during the day, around 10 F at night or so). Always trying to avoid buying from the Chinese factory and looking for warm stuff, I took the opportunity to support some local handicrafts. I added to my high tech layers from home a coat made of hand-woven wool, which was hand-sewn for me in the market. It’s beautiful and very warm. As I type now, I’m hunkered under a new chuba, which will be my outer layer, and a blanket at night. It’s lambs wool inside (I’m assured they died of natural causes) and wool outside, and about the shape of a bathrobe. I also picked up an inexpensive yak-wool blanket and a me-sized rug to lay down for camping.

All in all, it’s not cheap to stay warm here, and prices are climbing almost daily. Apparently everything is upwards of 30% more than it cost last year, especially materials and food (including yak meat, which is a staple). I can see why people buy the cheaper factory stuff – they have little choice – but it’s a shame, for the local crafts and for their own sensibilities.

I get many compliments around the Barkhor on my coat, from Tibetans of all ages. They are happy to see a well-made garment, especially on a westerner. They spit on their hands and rub them on the wool to get
lint off. I must learn more of the language so I can tell them I’d rather not have them do this.

Tomorrow we head north to visit Nam Tso, some ancient sites, and some other remote places. Happy Halloween (belated), Birthday to Jake and to Nancy, Election, and Veteran’s Day!