Ethiopia: Road-Tripping Through Tribal Territories On Africa's Horn

 

Prepping for an Ethiopian Expedition
Date: 3 March 2012
Location: Itegue Taitu Hotel (aka, Hotel Rwanda), Addis Ababa

After 18 hours of air travel, five of which involved painfully having to listen to a Somalian mother scream at her relentless offspring, I finally arrived in Addis Ababa - at 2 in the morning local time. My first taste of this highland city was unlike anything I was expecting. The dimly-lit streets were completely void of people or cars, the air utterly still and deathly silent. It certainly did not evoke the vivacious attributes expected of a nation's capital, which gave me every reason to revel even more in the mysteries that lay waiting outside of the provincial looking Bole International. Navigating the labyrinth of narrow streets, I finally arrived at a stretch of single-room bars and nightclubs, classic Azmari rhythms pulsating from dark, hidden chambers and faceless characters lingering in the shadows. Coming upon the Itegue Taitu Hotel, a 19th century building sporting dilapidated grandiose architecture reminiscent of colonial military barracks, I was welcomed by the all too familiar apology and explanation that my reservation was either canceled or nonexistent. Reservations are practically meaningless formalities in many developing countries, and if I had a nickel for every time I arrived at a bizarre hour to no vacancy... Thankfully, a single room of broken furniture, rotting walls, empty electrical sockets, and randomly hanging live wiring was available for my taking. This type of "Hotel Rwanda" accommodation is nothing new to me and quite frankly, I was too exhausted to even remotely care.

5 am outside the Itegue Taitu, our 4x4 ready for the expedition

The bulk of my first day in Addis was devoted to travel "chores" in preparation for my off-roading and camping excursion in the wilderness of the lower Omo Valley, a literal "End of the Earth" at that obscure point where the borders of Ethiopia, Kenya, and Sudan meet (not that anyone is really keeping track down there). The warlike tribes of this region, including the Karo, Hamer, and the lip-plate-wearing Mursi, have long tantalized the wildest imaginations of anyone who's picked up a National Geographic. Just the mere sound of their names made my amateurish anthropological senses tingle with delight, ingenuously envisioning my meeting with these ancient communities like some vintage film reel of a "first contact" encounter. It has long been my dream to visit these indigenous communities, whose "primordial" lifestyle has recently and tragically come under serious threat in the name of development and "progress" at the hands of the Ethiopian government and globalization (Westernization). It was heartbreaking to think that their ways of life and fascinating traditions may cease to exist several decades from now. With the strongest desire to set off and document, I spent most of my first morning discussing the logistics, supplies, and payment of the trip with my Oromo organizer and recently turned friend, Adimasu. I first met Adimasu online via the Lonely Planet Thorntree Forum, where we talked about the feasibility of tribal visits. Having just started his own guide service, he was ready for business and quoted me a price for exploring Omo that, in comparison with my extensive research results, was almost too good to be true: 800 USD per person for a week-long trip, including the 4x4 Land Cruiser, fuel, equipment, accommodation, permits, and all meals. Barely a month after that conversation, I now find myself anxiously knocking on his door.

Adimasu in downtown Addis

With the supplies being gathered and the 4x4 being prepped, my sightseeing in Addis began with the (in)famous Merkato, the largest market in sub-Saharan Africa and Ethiopia's most exuberant bazaar. The Merkato's infamy surely lies in the idea that most visitors who go in eventually come out with their pockets emptied and jewelry missing. I clutched my camera bag as if my life depended on it, and thankfully nothing negative was experienced as we wondered the haphazard alleys of produce, butcheries, and exotic home goods. A relative of Adimasu's friend, the 21-year old Mekdes, was generous enough to take half a day off to guide me through the maze of vendors and merchandise, passing thousands of shoppers, overpacked donkeys, and smog-choking microbuses. My first purchase was a small knife of the fierce Afar people from the desert north of the country (no chance I'd be able to see them and come out alive).

Hauling goods through the bustling Merkato

My evening was spent walking the downtown area of the Piazza and up towards St. Georgis church, where elaborate ceremonies involving liturgical chanting and ornate orthodox costumes were being conducted in front of thousands of white-robed devotees on the occasion of Lent. During this fasting period, people avoid most food throughout the day and anything involving meat or dairy. In merely a day, Ethiopia proved to represent a stunning smorgasbord of ethnic, cultural, and religious influences resulting from thousands of years of fusion incorporating African, Middle Eastern, and sporadic European elements. The morning call to prayer by the Muslim muezzin is immediately followed by Orthodox Christian sermons, broadcasted via loudspeaker across the city. The faces on the street echo every shade of the ethnic spectrum, from fair-skinned Amharas to the golden-hued Tigrinyas to the deep ebony complexions of the Nilotic minorities. Everything about the land and people seems so ancient, even in spite of the nation's hurried construction attempts to become more contemporary.

Colorful Orthodox rituals being performed in Addis for Ethiopian Lent

Today was quite delightful, as my father was successfully able to reunite with an old high school friend and his Ethiopian wife. My father's friend has been living in Ethiopia for 6 years now, working with developing a facility for orphaned children. Hopefully, our small contribution of an outdated laptop will be of some use towards his work. With the luxury of a private car and "local" friends, we received a wonderful personal tour of the capital's many sights, finishing off the afternoon with a traditional Lent meal and coffee hour in a cultural tukul hut setting. Ethiopian food has never failed me, and I wallowed in the spicy flavors of various "wats" (stews) eaten with the hands using the soft and delectable crepe-like injera.

Ethiopian food: It speaks for itself

Tomorrow, we embark on the long journey south. I'll likely be away from any form of communication for the next week, but I hope to describe to you the adventure that is to come upon my arrival back in Addis on Friday.


Tribe-Hopping Through the Lower Omo
Date: 12 March 2012
Location: Outside at a stone table on the mountainside, Lalibela


6 days.
1500 km.
10 tribes.

The sights and experiences of the past week have been as fantastic as they've been life changing. Coming to Ethiopia to witness first-hand some of the world's most unique and endangered ethnic groups has long been merely a fantasy for me, as a child captivated by images of beaded bare-breasted natives in National Geographic. Twenty years later this dream would ultimately be fulfilled, and while I had to keep reminding myself not to "fetishize" these tribal minorities, nothing about their traditions ceased to allure me. Starting off from Addis in a 1980 Nissan Patrol 4x4 filled with equipment, my father, our Kafa guide Tsumtsum, our Amhara driver Mohammed, and I slowly meandered along dirt roads from village to village, taking in the exotic inhabitants and vast landscape. Tsumtsum, whose tribe discovered the coffee bean (from "Kafa" we get "coffee"), speaks nearly 6 different tribal languages in addition to the national Amharic and English. Mohammed, who has years of experience as a commercial truck driver, is an expert at navigating rough muddy trails and avoiding collisions with cow herds and flocks of goats. They make a great team, always looking out for our comfort and helping to mediate our interactions with the tribes. The stories are too numerous to document in detail here, but I hope to share with you some of this week's highlights in brief.

Our Kafa Interpreter, Tsumtsum

Our Amhara driver, Mohammed

Setting off into the bush

A wild camel out in the bush near the border with Sudan

Vultures on the road indicated something dead was nearby

Traveling rough trails out into what seemed like an oblivion of arid bush, filled with thorny shrubs and iconic African acacias, we ended up deep into a valley whose emptiness appeared to spread hundreds of kilometers in every direction. It was hot and dusty as we forged our way across enormous dried river beds into the territory of the Hamer tribe. Tsumtsum was constantly on his mobile phone, losing connection every few minutes and anxiously holding it up into the air until the signal bar would reappear. Word was very vaguely spreading around in the area that a tribal pre-wedding ritual was going to take place, although no one really knew where or when. Ten calls and 300 km later, we ultimately found ourselves off a dirt path next to a desolate river bed, where a handful of other 4x4s where parked under an acacia grove. From the path, it didn't seem like there was any sign of life in sight. We made our way down to the shore where we were shockingly greeted by a hundred Hamer women and men, everyone chattering and moving about with a great sense of excitement and anticipation. Like a vision from pre-history, the women donned decorated flaps and tresses of raw goat hides, decorated with an array of gleaming white cowrie shells and brightly colored beads. Shimmering brass bangles stacked up the length of their arms while massive iron anklets clinked with their every step. The most defining feature of the tribe was the elaborate female hairstyles, formed from rolling red ocher and ash to form delicate bob-length copper dreads from their hair, ultimately giving the appearance of life-size, wig-wearing terracotta figures. We were so fortunate to be able to witness this rare pre-wedding ceremony, which consisted of three parts. The first involved the women singing and dancing in a circle before coming together in the center and jumping voraciously, all the while blowing small metal horns and shrieking. Following this dance, the women then approached the men, who wore nothing but a small loin cloth and plenty of beaded jewelry. One by one, the women began to single out a man for each of themselves, calling out to him and harassing him, even pleading with him. Eventually the man would pull out a long stick and literally flog the woman, inflicting a ghastly large and bloody slice in her back. All of the women would endure around 6-8 whips, their backs dripping with blood and dust. As horrifying and abusive as it sounds. the women actually beg to be whipped of their free will by the man of their choice, serving as both a sign of her devotion to him and his mutual attraction to her should he respond. It was grizzly and truly a shock to the senses upon hearing the sharp snap of wood slicing through soft skin in a ceremony meant to help young girls find a potential suitor. The final part of the ceremony was the "jumping of the bulls", performed by the groom-to-be. Completely nude and sporting an interesting mohawk, the groom was expected to demonstrate his honor and prowess by jumping onto a bull's back and running along the backs of a line of 7-8 additional bulls restrained  by the "groomsmen". Should he fall during one of his five runs, he risked bringing dishonor to his family and would be beaten in shame. Thankfully this time around, the pre-marriage ritual passed smoothly. Interestingly, we never saw the future bride, as this day was clearly not about her. I wanted to make this rare ceremony worthwhile, going as far as to get my face painted with red ocher and white chalk in the fashion of the other men. The tribe found it quite amusing that I was taking an interest in their customs and even offered me a pinch of red powder, after which they signaled to my nose. In an effort to not offend them, I snorted it, with my whole nose burning as if I had just inhaled red chili peppers. They laughed absolutely hysterically, and when I managed to semi regain consciousness, I nervously laughed as well while hoping I hadn't been poisoned. I would later learn that it was a type of snort tobacco traditionally offered to wedding guests, and by God was it a slap to the face.

Unwed women performing a pre-marriage dance

Young Hamer woman

Goat-hide apparel and traditional ornaments

Hamer man donning ocher face paint

Old and new scars from the ritual flogging

The groom performing the bull-jumping ritual of marriage eligibility and honor

Nothing says "hello" quite like having a loaded AK-47 shoved into your face by a Mursi tribe elder. The Mursi, along with their cousins the Surma, certainly were the most anticipated of the tribes on account of their ancient traditions, bizarre forms of body modification, and reputation for ferocity. Working our way up from the scorching lowlands to the forested highlands cradling the Omo River, we bounced our way through Mago into Mursi territory. We passed a variety of wildlife, including baboons, dikdiks, and giant vultures tearing away at a hyena carcass. On the top of a high ridge, we came across a small village of several family groups. Immediately we noticed how more primitive the Mursi culture is in comparison to neighboring tribes. Rather than the elegant thatched huts of the Hamer and Karo, the Mursi live in the most basic of structures that resemble little more than a pile of grass with a opening in the bottom. The interior was pitch dark and filled with insects. Their "mattresses" consisted of nothing more than a piece of rock-hard, dried goat skin and they possessed few belongings, such as a grinding stone and machete. An old man came out yelling in an unintelligible tongue while brandishing a loaded Kalashnikov. All of the tribes have them down here and carry them freely, purchasing them from contraband dealers across the border in Sudan for a few cattle. The tribes still attack each other to this day and apparently guns were more efficient at killing than old school spears and arrows. Apart from using his mobile phone to pinpoint the time and location of tribal weddings, Tsumtsum further used it via word-of-mouth to steer us clear from areas experiencing inter-tribal warfare, where killings still spontaneously arise between rival clans. Tsumtsum definitely helped with introductory formalities involving the Mursi, and thankfully after some discussion we were welcomed once the initial tension and apprehension on both sides subsided. Two women emerged from their hay pile dwellings, exhibiting the beauty accessory that brought this tribe to international recognition- the lip plate. This custom is truly the most radical I have ever witnessed amongst the world's tribal communities. The practice involves  pulling out the girl's two front teeth in a gruelingly painful procedure, followed by making an incision in her lower lip into which a small ceramic plate is inserted. Depending on the size of the dowry given for her marriage, the size of the plate can increase, ultimately stretching the lower lip to up to 15 cm in diameter. It was baffling to see these women attempt to speak with giant clay disks swinging from their mouths. Without it, their bottom lips merely dangle below their chins, and are often something the women play with using their fingers. In addition to the lip plates, the Mursi also insert plates into their ears and decorate their bodies with intricated designs of ritual scarification. Two boys returned from the fields, one of whom was covered in huge bloody and festering wounds to his chest and arms. It was evident that he had recently partaken in a donga, a ritual stick fight involving a violent dual using two meter long wooden rods. In spite of the donga simply being a friendly competition between the men, it is not uncommon for opponents to be beaten unconscious or even to death. After much sitting and staring while our interpreter chatted away, we said farewell and headed off down the dirt path towards the next village. Along the way, we stopped to admire a group of Mursi men walking along the roadside. One was completely naked and covered in intricate spiral and hand-print designs of white chalk that sharply contrasted with their charcoal black bodies. Another wore a headdress of giant hippo tusks that curved down over his ears. As a group, they looked truly intimidating, but a couple of photos in exchange for a few gifts helped ease the tension and even bring out a comical side to these warriors. The Mursi are also notorious in the region for raiding and taking whatever they want, often pointing to something on our bodies like jewelry or accessories and casually demanding it. Interactions with foreigners as well as pressure from the government has helped slightly reduce their aggression and hostility, however their temperaments have been known to turn without warning.

Mursi women without the inserted plates

Mursi men met along the roadside

 

 

All in all, we've stopped and visited at least 10 unique tribes, each sporting their own forms of hairstyle, beaded jewelry, and varying degrees of nudity. I've had a great experience with each of them. Other memories include getting felt up by an old Karo women who couldn't seem to discern my gender. Although, without having first seen her sagging breasts, I surely wouldn't have been able to discern hers either. There was also the time an Arbore girl was fascinated with my long hair, as nearly all of the tribes in this area lack the genetic capability to grow and maintain it. And I certainly will not forget the Konso boys who danced a tribal dance in the streets as our vehicle approached, in an effort to win our empty plastic water bottles that they could use for practical as well as play purposes. The entire journey has been mesmerizing and I hope with all my heart that these indigenous communities will continue to strive in light of the destruction of their homes in the name of "progress", at the hands of the government and foreign investors.

Members of the Arbore tribe observe us from a distance

Arbore girls in traditional attire

Karo girl with distinctive nail piercing on her chin

Members of the Karo tribe stare with curiosity

A group of Karo boys we met on the road

Lalibela: Surviving Imprisonment in a Rock-Cut Church
Date: 20 February 2014
Location: The laboratory I work at, on a lunch break

In putting this blog post together, it suddenly dawned on me that I never found the moment to write about the final leg of the Ethiopian adventure I witnessed, having returned from the Omo expedition already with so much on my mind to write about. I'll likely keep it brief and rely mostly on my photos to convey the story, but one experience in particular is worth describing, given how the likelihood of it happening to anyone else is virtually zero, whereas given my propensity for misfortune, it was practically destined to happen to me.

Far to the north of the country is an archaeologist's wonderland, the ancient mountain village of Lalibela. Capital of the Zaqwe Kingdom during the 12th and 13th centuries, Lalibela is essentially Ethiopia's version of a Petra or an Ellora, made world-renowned by the countless medieval orthodox churches literally cut out from the living rock. An artistic and engineering marvel, the churches dot the dry brushy mountainside, with some carved directly into the stone cliff while others are completely free, having been rock-hewn from the roof down. Of these churches, the region's prized masterpiece is none other than Bet Giorgis, or the Church of St. George, whose perfectly cross-shaped structure carved free-standing into a 100 ft deep pit is a blatant testimony to the astounding ingenuity of the ancients. In was in this setting that one of the most hilarious travel incidents occurred for me. 

The Church of St. George, Lalibela's finest rock-cut masterpiece

The church was hewn straight from the rock, from the roof down, into a 100 ft deep pit.

 

We entered the long carved passageway that snaked down into the stone pit in which the church was nestled. It was a lazy afternoon as well as off-season, the most idealized combination for a father-son duo to experience the rare chance of having an entire ancient wonder all to themselves. The church was deathly silent, with nothing more than the sound of an old priest flipping through the crackling pages of a newspaper, frankincense wafting through the few beams of light that penetrated its dark stone walls. Tiptoeing around the massive pillars, we greeted the priest with a humble nod before making our rounds in the haunting complex. With no other people in the entire place, we took our time to absorb the history, finally walking outside and around back to admire the mummified corpses of ancient pilgrims that were so casually stuffed into little carved niches in the trench wall. Having spent a good forty minutes in the church, we headed back around to the wooden door in the stone wall leading back to the passageway. Locked. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, an archaic 1800's padlock linked around the only entrance and exit from the 100 ft deep pit. The priest was gone and the church also locked up. My father laughed, joking that the priest probably got bored and decided to take off early for lunch, forgetting we were still inside. We both figured that the priest would return and we patiently waited, taking more photos and conversing about our favorite parts of the trip. Twenty-five minutes rolled by and I was feeling dehydrated, as the scorching noon-day sun now beamed directly over the pit. We had no water or food in our packs given that just 100 feet above us were plenty of street vendors and village cafes. After 40 minutes, we knew that this could get serious if the priest never came back that day. "Hellooo?!!" We both looked upwards and screamed at the top of our lungs. Nothing. Nothing but the faint sound of a breeze passing through trees somewhere over the edge of the pit that imprisoned us. Sitting in that pit made me question whether it was a sign from God that I should convert and start attending church. By minute 45, however, I was on the verge of threatening God with atheism. Finally, after several more minutes of screaming, the tiny head of a perplexed goat-herd boy popped out from over the edge. We used a combination of sign language and pleading to convey our distressing predicament, which was eventually made clear as he ran off hollering something intelligible. A man finally returned, along with a group of curious villagers, all pointing into the pit and comically chuckling, all in good nature of course. Only after having been released from our stone cell, I can't think of any other unique way I would've wanted to spend my time in this historic place. 

 

Struggling to bust a massive locked door

From the bottom of the pit

A priest sits in solitude

Navigating a dark passage with just a camera flash

 

 

 

 

Here are just a few photos from village life around beautiful Lalibela. The Saturday market is one of the best days to see traditional peoples bringing their produce and livestock to trade and sell.

Traditional Amhara clothing

Amhara girl and her wash bucket

The colorful Saturday market in Lalibela

Writing at dusk at the Seven Olives restaurant

Traditional tukul huts in Lalibela, at around 8200 ft in elevation

Strolling through the village

Tibet & Mt Everest: Road-Tripping The Roof Of The World

Securing Permits: A Bureaucratic Mess & Traveler's Worst Nightmare

Date: 18 May 2007

Location: On the edge of my seat, Berkeley

Tibet. The very nature of the word invokes images of soaring snow-capped peaks, precariously-perched monasteries, and a mystical people concealed for centuries in a mythical Shangri-La. Truth be said, it virtually lived up to this reputation until as late as the 60's, when a spawning China began devouring everything in its path in an effort to lay claim to what had supposedly "always been theirs". While I certainly possess my own strong views on the controversy and resulting detriments surrounding the Red Dragon's invasion of this  peaceful Himalayan nation, I'll leave that debate to the protesters. Rather, without trying to become too overwhelmingly passionate about the human rights abuses and freedom movements, I'm going to focus on documenting my upcoming journey to this enchanted, albeit politically turbulent land - if I can even get in!

Foreign policy - often the bane of every traveler's existence - has truly put me in a predicament this time. Given the territory's contentious nature, gaining access to Tibet has always been an exasperating endeavor, as innumerable permits are required while the region's borders are constantly opening and closing depending on how Beijing feels that day. Timing is absolutely crucial when it comes to planning (more like "attempting") a Tibet trip, with months of anxiety over bureaucratic paper-pushing  and crossing your fingers that by the time you do arrive at the border, the Chinese won't be in a bad mood. I can't count how many posts I've come across on the Lonely Planet Thorntree Forum recounting traveler's horror stories of finally arriving in Lhasa after months of preparation, only to be told to take the next flight out because "Tibet is indefinitely closed".

Whether you've heard on the news or not, a group of Americans recently decided to stage a demonstration on Mt. Everest in support for Tibetan independence from China. The Chinese government isn't taking this very well and in response to such defiance, all currently issued Tibet permits have been revoked and the region is on total lock-down to foreigners. As we speak, a good number of backpackers are twiddling their thumbs in Chengdu and Golmud (two main departure ports to the region) waiting for some glimmer of hope that the borders will re-open. This is a serious problem on my end because I already have a flight to Lhasa. Translation - I have a very expensive flight to the middle of nowhere and I can't even leave the airport. What's frustrates me the most is that the system required me to already have purchased a flight to Lhasa in order to file the permit application, even then with no real guarantee that a permit would be granted. And as of today, not only do I not possess the permit, but the region is now completely off limits. And by the way, I'm supposed to leave in a week.

I've been directly conversing with various backpackers currently in China, anxiously awaiting any news of the border situation. Contacting the Chinese consulate in San Francisco and the embassy in Washington have both proved futile. The trip of a lifetime is already falling apart before even starting.

Americans protesting on Everest, a month before my departure

Updates!

Date: 25 May 2007

Location: Next to the telephone, at my parents' house

I continued trying to get in contact with my agent in LA about obtaining the permits. Every time we inquired about the situation from her, she always replied that she would get back to us later. That conversation passed about a week ago and I completely panicked, having now suffered for a month of unknowing where I'm going to end up. We're leaving for China TOMORROW and the fact that we possessed no documentation or plans didn't remotely seem to concern her. The true shocker from today came when the China-based agency told us to go ahead and just "wing it", as in try to get on the Lhasa flight without any permits, papers, or authorization. Something deep down told me that risking a 50/50 chance of breaching the Tibetan border, possibly to be detained indefinitely by a communist border patrol, just isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

And now, the fist-pump moment we've all been waiting for: I received a call mere minutes ago from our agent saying that the paperwork was approved, the permit was issued, and the border restriction was just lifted - hours before my departure! BAM!

Now that the permit crisis is somewhat at rest (we can never be too sure what may change in the next several days), I now get to worry about the other hazard of this trip - altitude sickness (AMS). I will be going to essentially the highest inhabitable place on earth. Tibet's capital at Lhasa, one of the lowest regions on the plateau, is already at 12,000 feet. Everest base camp is just around 17,000 feet. Everest itself is at just under 30,000 feet, the altitude most commercial airlines fly at. AMS works in mysterious ways, as it affects every individual differently regardless of physical fitness or health. Grandma may end up feeling just fine while an Olympic athlete finds himself on his hands and knees, gasping for air. AMS can also prove debilitating and fatal, even if you're strapped to oxygen, with the only remedy being an immediate descent to lower altitudes. Here are the more severe symptoms:

• dizziness, headaches, nausea, vomiting
• weakness, pins-and-needles, nose-bleeds, swelling of the hands/feet
• Pulmonary Edema (accumulation of fluid in the lungs until you basically drown)
• Cerebral Edema (swelling of the brain until it basically bursts)

Here's to hoping that our rapid ascent will not be marked by any of the above. Thus begins the journey of a lifetime.

Savoring Sights & Sounds in the "City of the Gods"

Date: 29 May 2007

Location: Internet cafe in the Barkhor, Lhasa

After two full days of pure travel, consisting of three flights and a bus trip, we finally entered the fabled Lhasa, "City of the Gods" as the Tibetans staunchly testify. To think that we reached in mere days what takes some Tibetans a year to reach by foot made the entire arrival seem so unmerited, particularly given that Saga Dawa (Buddha's birthday) is approaching and thousands of Tibetans are making the daunting pilgrimage to the sacred city from homes as far as a thousand miles away. Everywhere you turn, Tibetans donning traditional chuba robes and reciting mantras are flooding the city from the countryside to prostrate themselves before the Potala, or former palace of the Dalai Lama, and the Jokhang, the most sacred temple in the region. As we witnessed along the narrow highway entering the city, true devotees make the grueling journey in the most strikingly penitent fashion, taking a few steps forward before stopping to lie completely flat on their stomachs, legs together and arms outstretched in prayer, only to rise and repeat - for hundreds of miles. This demonstration of religious devotion, or merely the spiritual intensity by which the Tibetans live their daily lives in general, is unlike anything I have ever seen and truly an unfathomable custom to observe. An estimated 50 thousand people will pour into the city by the 31st, with many of them spending the night along the streets and in nomadic camps set up along the city's edge. Meanwhile, all of this mobilization has meant that many army vehicles can be seen strategically placed throughout the city, filled with police in riot gear ready to quell any potential uprising. And when police are not monitoring the streets, you can always wave to one of the hundreds of "eyes in the sky" that keep meticulous watch over the city's inhabitants.

Monks and devotees make their rounds in the sacred old quarter of the Barkhor

Prayer wheels in a narrow alley

Detail from one of many ornate temples

A military presence is everywhere in the city, ready to suppress any political dissent

Arriving in Lhasa felt like stepping into a forbidden land. The city is snuggled in the Yarlung Valley, surrounded by "foothills" that are actually far taller than most mountains back in California. The terrain is rocky and dry, textured by ridges and valleys as if the earth were a giant roll of wrinkled fabric. A panorama of golden temple roofs and low, whitewashed buildings sporting staffs of prayer flags gives the entire city a remoteness and richly ancient feeling, even as construction of modern Chinese skyscrapers slowly encroaches. As I already touched upon, the deep adherence to the Buddhist faith not only drives the people, but likewise drives the life of Lhasa itself, as hundreds of Tibetans fastidiously circumambulate the city and its countless shrines. Walking clockwise amidst a sea of devotees, we eventually pushed forward in the long queue to enter the Jokhang and its inner sanctum, where worshipers sat beneath the fierce gaze of a gold and bejeweled Buddha several stories in height. The interior of the temple was dark and haunting, its chambers and narrow corridors lit solely by the flickering of yak butter candles whose pungent aroma clashed with the scent of spicy sandalwood and earthy juniper incense. With the murmuring chant of monks echoing off of brightly painted walls depicting radiant gods and fiery demons, the entire experience was as eerie as it was ethereal, a complete overwhelming of the senses.

Worshiping at the Jokhang

Giant incense burners filled with dried juniper fill the old city with an earthy fragrance

Yak butter candles at one of the altars

Larger than life gold idols in the sanctuary

Vivid temple murals of mighty gods and ferocious demons cover every wall

A similar feeling was felt at the Potala, the fortress-like palace of the Dalai Lamas that quintessentially defines the Lhasa skyline. It sits proudly upon a natural hill in the center of the city, and can be seen from every direction as the spiritual, artistic, and engineering jewel of Tibetan culture. Home to the spiritual leaders of Tibet from the 17th to the early 20th century, it boasts a staggering 1000 rooms and 10 thousand shrines over thirteen stories worth of construction. Since the exile of the 14th Dalai Lama to India in 1959, the palace has served solely as a museum, even though Tibetans still bow before it when passing in the street. Its great halls house thousands of statues of enormous proportions, all covered in gold, silks, and semi precious stones. A monk in one of the chapels witnessed my admiration and bestowed upon me the truly honorable gift of a khatta, or traditional white silk scarf, that he ceremoniously rubbed on the gold tomb of the 8th Dalai Lama. I bowed to him with hands in prayer as he draped the blessed fabric over my neck, feeling metaphysically moved as well as giddy with the thought of having physically acted out a scene from "7 Years in Tibet". This country may be a wild wasteland to many people, but it certainly does not lack in cultural and spiritual wealth.

The Potala Palace, the iconic landmark of Tibet

Devoted workers renovate the inner grounds, stomping the mud floor while singing traditional songs

Pilgrims prostrate themselves on the street when passing before the Potala Palace

Today we enjoyed a traditional lunch of grilled yak meat (exceptionally tough), mutton, and hand-pulled noodles, an archetypal meal for the semi-nomadic populace on the plateau. We are currently at an altitude of roughly 12,000 feet, experiencing a level of ultraviolet radiation that gives even my father a decent sun burn. Hours after landing, we already began to experience the basic symptoms of altitude sickness, my mother dealing primarily with headaches and dizziness, while my father and I faced bizarre tingling in the face and fingers with an occasional nosebleed (more likely due to the arid climate). At one point last night, I awoke feeling a little out of breath. It was actually quite shocking and scary at first, as none of us have ever felt physically threatened on a trip simply by the nature of our geography. Nevertheless, we've been acclimating before our long anticipated family road trip - to Everest.

A slab of grilled yak meat (more like yak jerky)

Gold and silk ritual parasols decorate a temple roof at the Drepung Monastery outside Lhasa

Young monks return to their quarters after a morning of meditation and chanting

The Journey to Mt. Everest: A Tale of Insight & Intrigue

Date: 6 June 2007

Location: Internet cafe in the Barkhor, Lhasa

300 miles of rough road-tripping.
Towering mountains, lowland valleys.
Scorching sands, freezing snow.
Golden temples, mud-brick houses
Yaks, horses, goats, vultures.

Despite my family having traveled every year since I was conceived, all too frequently to what many envision to be the literal “ends of the earth”, the road trip to Mt. Everest was completely unlike any journey we’d ever experienced prior. It only took a mere six days to live a lifetime, to feel every possible emotion in the spectrum, to suffer from almost every kind of ailment, and yet most amazingly, to witness every possible extremity this planet has to offer in one setting. It would take me far more than the hour I've spent at this internet cafe to fully convey the totality of the adventure felt on this deeply personal expedition. Momentarily speechless, even my pictures can only express 999 words of the thousands more worth writing to describe a place as vast as Tibet – the Roof of the World.

After stocking up on supplies and confirming with our guide that the 4x4 was fueled and functional, we embarked on a first day that had already proven to be an adventure in itself. We sped off in our Land Cruiser from the capital at Lhasa (elevation 12,000’) through the dramatic Yarlung Valley in southern Tibet, passing spectacular scenes of traditional agrarian life. From colossal carvings of the Buddha on cliff walls to snaking rivers naturally carving their own way through the valley floor, we began the steep ascent up and over the Kambala pass (16,300') to view Yamdroktso Lake (14,500’), a dazzling sea of azure blue amidst a greater beige ocean of rock. Since the beginning of the trip, the entire plan seemed simple and relaxed, having a teenage Tibetan guide and middle-aged driver deliver us to some of the most elusive and visually dramatic locations of exquisite natural beauty the earth has ever produced. However, as the trip progressed, we began to realize that, as every facet of life in Tibet has experienced under Chinese occupation, it would neither be that easy nor emotionally settling. With Tibet as the hub of such great sociopolitical controversy since China’s cultural revolution, the Chinese authorities have not failed in making traveling within the region exceptionally complicated. Foreigners are forbidden from traveling anywhere without a state-approved guide. Thankfully, both our guide and driver happened to be actual Tibetans, as opposed to Chinese, giving us the benefit of a more legitimate experience and service. On the open road, away from eavesdropping agents and video surveillance, we were told the societal plight of the Tibetan people as well as the human rights atrocities designed to keep them suppressed as second-class citizens in their own land. In addition to requiring government authorization to simply enter the province, a police-issued permit is mandatory for every site of interest outside of Lhasa, to be inspected at checkpoints in every town. It had already taken weeks prior to the trip, a good amount of money, and plenty of stress to guarantee us permits for travel within Tibet, a process made even more problematic following the recent American protests for Tibetan independence a month earlier. 

Our driver, a middle-aged man from Amdo, drives hundreds of miles to support his wife and two daughters

Back before cars reached Tibet, people rode yaks. Taken above Yamdroktso Lake.

Unfortunately, we did not realize just how difficult it would get until we arrived in Shigatse (12,800’), where we found ourselves overwhelmed by some sort of shady, underground transaction entirely for the purpose of obtaining a single permit that we apparently lacked. We were told that we could not proceed any further without this document, although after a lengthy, restless discussion between our driver and guide in Tibetan, a solution was supposedly plausible. Cruising dubiously through town, we found ourselves parked at what seemed to be someone's vacant residence, being told to remain in the vehicle. Fifteen minutes later, our guide returned, closely clutching an envelope with photocopies of our passports and other documents. We were then taken to the center of town where a bustling children's festival was taking place, tents filled with families eating and playing traditional gambling games in a crowded carnival-like atmosphere. Again, we were told to wait in the vehicle. Everything was done with considerable suspicion of people potentially watching, our guide informing us that obtaining the missing permit was indeed possible but would require us to leave our passports and a cash payoff of a couple hundred yuan with a man they simply referred to as “the leader”. Our hearts sank having been thrown into such a clandestine predicament that would either push our trip forward or stop it dead in its tracks. After considerable debate, we ultimately took the risk, as our guide quickly vanished into the crowd with our money and documentation. After half an hour, he eventually re-emerged and explained that it was necessary to skip town for a day, reassuring us that our passports and permits would be returned in due time. As we set off down the road, with the town of Shigatse gradually disappearing on the horizon, we could not help but feel unbearable anxiety in realizing that we had just left our only forms of identification with a faceless character in a sea of tents 90 kilometers away. 

At a children's festival, the setting for some super shady, covert transactions

Trying not to think about what would become of our crucial documents, we enjoyed the outpost town of Gyangze (13,000’) and its rustic streets, along with the imposing 14th-century Palkhor monastery. Like a scene from a rugged western frontier, the town possessed an air of remote romance, dusty and orange in the shadow cast by an ancient fortress crowning a dry cliff top in the setting sun. As our guide led us through the monastery’s dark sanctuary, a heavy aroma of incense and yak butter filled a breathtaking chamber inhabited by a number of gold and jeweled deities, their gilded faces glistening in the flickering candle light. The monks sat in near darkness, chanting deeply alongside the light tinkling of bells and raucous thuds of temple drums in an ambiance that propagated the omnipresent spiritual vibe Tibet is renowned for. To describe the scene as "meditative" would be an injustice to the mystical energy and mental focus mastered by these red-robed teachers. As for my mother, the passports were the only things on her mind that entire day. We returned to the ongoing festival in Shigatse the next morning with our fingers crossed, ultimately to find our passports returned along with the required permits. We never met “the leader.”

Overlooking the ruggedly romantic town of Gyangze and its formidable fortress

The 14th century Palkhor Monastery and Stupa

Monks deep in chants within the inner chapel

Continuing on up to the great Tashilhunpo monastery cradled by jagged cliffs, we stood in the presence of a gold-plated bronze Buddha 86 feet in height, supposedly dubbed the largest bronze statue in the world. Given that a single finger of this silent giant was as tall as me, I came to realize that virtually everything here in Tibet must be measured on a colossal scale. And that scale became even more incomprehensible as we gradually bounced our way further south toward the heart of the Himalayas. Apart from an incident where our driver nearly got us into a fatal head-on collision after falling asleep, in which my father had to grab the wheel to evade a fully-loaded semi, the journey to Everest was exceptionally pleasant and thoroughly awe-inspiring. Up through rocky mountain passes, down through cavernous gorges, through dry heat and wet cold, we passed countless villages comfortably perched at around 16,000 feet in altitude. However, with such extremes came the unavoidable (and potentially fatal) nuisance that is altitude sickness. Apart from a brief breathing issue at night reminiscent of a small asthma attack, I was relatively fine. My father faced incessant nosebleeds and numbness throughout his body, but was otherwise decent. My mother, however, experienced the worst symptoms as she struggled with excruciating migraines and nausea, all while trying to fight a severe head cold and swollen glands. It was another gamble, as we knew that should her condition worsen, there would be no way for us to return to Lhasa as quick as necessary. We spent a night in Shegar, a cold and desolate village that we'd later learn becomes overrun by hundreds of vicious wild dogs, growling and fighting all throughout the night making it impossible to sleep. But while our nights tested our endurance and patience, it was the beauty of the journey and interacting with locals during the daytime that made it all worthwhile. We were fortunate to witness a rare and fascinating event of true Tibetan culture, a circle dance performed by villagers on the side of the mountain pass. Invited to drink barley beer with the elders, we were fully entertained by a swarm of smiling children, some of them eager to see Westerners for the very first time. Elaborately decked in heavy woolen robes, tribal necklaces of turquoise beads with coral, and gaudy silver ornaments, the genuine geniality of these isolated villagers will never be forgotten.

We passed many remote villages in the Himalayan foothills

Herds of yaks cross the road

Poor Tibetans beg along the road

The winding dirt road leading south towards Everest

We were invited to join a village festival

Villagers performing a circle dance in traditional attire

A young girl is captivated by our presence

An old woman who offered us barley beer

A village girl points to her teeth in curiosity after seeing my orthodontic braces, mistaking them for "mouth jewelry"

Rural Tibetans are exceedingly friendly and often highly comical

The mighty Himalayan range, seen from 60 miles away

After four straight days of criss-crossing vast terrain, interacting with weather-beaten nomads, and holding our breaths at plenty of police checkpoints, we arrived at Everest base camp, which was nestled at a staggering altitude of around 17,000 feet. The scene was exquisitely savage and as enthralling as I imagined it to be. A tiny strip of goat-hair tents managed by different Tibetan families lined the main path leading towards the foot of the mountain, each ready to receive what few visitors may happen to pass through. Out behind the dirt path was a communal pit latrine, where men and woman could squat side-by-side in the open over holes in a rickety set of planks. A leg of raw goat meat hung off of a hand-painted sign, the need for refrigeration rendered void given the summertime chill. We settled down with two Tibetan teenagers who demonstrated gracious hospitality through their provisions and making us feel completely at home despite the unforgiving environment that surrounded us. As night fell, below-freezing temperatures enveloped the camp while we remained snug in our tent, bundled tightly in ballooning layers of woven blankets around a small oven fueled by dried yak dung. While being mothered by a girl younger than me, we all could not help but feel the looming presence of the “Universal Mother,” an appropriate title the Tibetans give to the highest mountain in the world. Everest was simply mind-blowing. At 29,029 feet, its blinding white face burst from the rock-strewn floor as the most intimidating work of nature I’ve ever come across. Despite formidable gusts of wind and temperamental cloud cover on our first day at base camp, our image of Everest could not have been more perfect as we received an exceptional and completely unobstructed view the next day. Given such fortune, we were also lucky to have been present at the same time that an Australian expedition was planning to summit the mountain, observing their oxygen tanks and climbing equipment piled high around their tents in the "permit-only" section of the basecamp. But Everest was just as humbling as it was exciting. Feeling exceptionally diminutive and entirely overcome with piety, I kept with Tibetan Buddhist tradition by tying down my own personal set of prayer flags at the base of the mountain. Inscribed with the signatures, wishes, and prayers of my family, friends, and teachers, I could not help but feel an immense sensation of satisfaction in knowing that I could somehow share this sacred experience with everyone dearest to me, if not in the flesh then at least in spirit.

Base camp at Mt. Everest. This part of the camp is reserved for authorized climbers only

Close-up of the North Face of Everest during the day

Australian expedition tents

Supply tents with plenty of oxygen tanks

Hanging personally-signed prayer flags on the shrine at the base

The section of base camp reserved for non-climbers wishing to spend the night

A girl lights a dung-fueled stove in our tent to keep out the below-freezing temperatures

A leg of raw goat meat waiting to be cooked

Everest, as seen from Rombuk Monastery

The Sacred Lake of Namsto: A Photo Gallery

I've included for your enjoyment a few selected photos taken from a visit to the area around the sacred lake of Namtso (15,479'), on the road trip back from Everest. 

Herding yaks on the Tibetan Plateau

The tent of a nomad family on the plain surrounding the lake

A nomad mother and her four daughters

Invited into the tent of one nomad family

 

A scene from the Wild West of the East. Taken at a tent village on the shores of Namtso

Dawn over shrines on the lake, a woman carries a water jug on her back

Snow deposited overnight on the surrounding mountains

A tent shop sells snacks and oxygen