Tibet to Bangkok

This post picks up where the previous Tibet blog left off. I suggest reading books about the chaos theory and quantum mechantics to thoroughly understand the principles surrounding the structure and methodology of my posts. Think of various streams of thought all happening simultaneously, and you might have some glimpse of the bizarre workings of my obviously disfunctional and highly unpredictable cranial functionality.

Tibet and Potala Palace - Part 2

So, we wanted tickets. I offered my soul and five dollars, but neither seemed to hold any weight. I suggested telling people we had SARS, and then running frantically into the complex, but Keith intonnated that we would probably just be shot. I knew Keith was around for some reason, because it certainly wasn't for sponge baths or picking up loose foreign women. After some deliberation and multiple conversations with various bystanders, we decided to return the following day to aquire tickets. A risky, but logical decision.

Finding ourselves once again in the Tibetan quarter, lost and hungry, we walked in circles searching for yet another palace. Actually, our objective involved finding a nunery just outside the Muslim quarter. While conversing and debating as to where this residence of celebate woman might be, two young Tibetan students interjected quite abruptly after over-hearing our dilemma. "You look for nunery?" the youngest of the two inquired. "Yea," we responded with some curiosity and hesitation. As we had been conned and coerced innumerable times during our travels up to that point, nearly everybody, including Buddha, Jesus, and McGruff the Crime Dog, was held at point with an aire of suspicion. "We can show you," the little navigator insisted. We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, and allowed the two local inhabitants to lead us into the unknown. I wondered what kind of unexpected tom-foolery we were in for this time. Maybe some kind of high pressure bake sale. "You buy muffins now!" "No, dammit, I don't want your crappy muffins." You can be assured they would be crappy, as bread and pastries in Tibet left much to be desired. "You have no choice. I stalk you for entire trip until buy muffins!" This prospect seemed terrifying, but I was tired and therefore complacent. So, we followed. As we walked, by some heavenly, miracle-type occurance, it slowly became unbundantly, and thankfully clear that these two students melded with our existance for only one reason. Like every Frenchman, they wanted to learn English. Well, actually they already spoke English quite well, unlike the French, and they wanted to practice. Having discovered this, and verifying their good intentions with a visit to the nunery, which we didn't go into because it was three dollars instead of ten cents, we allowed the minature tour guides to lead us on a facinating tour of Lhasa. We were given explanations, histories, directions, advice, and great information on a number of temples in the area and on Tibetan culture. Following the expansive walk through town, we accepted an invitation to one of the student's home. The smallest of the two, Peter, lead us to his humble abode, where after meeting part of his family, we consumed yak butter tea and Tsamba, a doughy substance that went quite well with the fatty drink. We drank, ate, and talked, exchanged email addresses, and left with a sense that we experienced some genuine hospitality.

Potala and the Sneak Attack

While touring one of the temples with Peter and Dawa (the other student), I ran into an Italian, who sounded like a German, who informed me that he snuck into Potala Palace with a tour group earlier in the day. This sounded very intriguing. We knew at this point that any legitimate method for entering the palace would be either too expensive or nearly impossible. So, we agreed to use stealth and cunning to acquire access. Finding the tour group entrance, we waited around for a mass of eager lemmings to filter into the complex. This occured quite rapidly, and attaching ourselves to the tail end of the group, we tried to enter. We were optimistic for a moment, thinking our keen and praticed abilities to act and blend in rendered us indistinguishable from the others. But this proved ineffectual. We were cut from the group, like small growths of fungus from a block of cheese, and told that we were far to handsome to enter the great Buddhist temple. Gathering quickly from such a sudden blow, we pointed to the group, gestured, spoke in quasi-English, and motioned that I was Buddha's second cousin Ronald, and Keith knew the Dalai Lama through friends on his mothers side. They wouldn't have it. Our plans were foiled. We meandered around like bobble-heads, wondering what to do next. Suddenly, the woman at the table caught our attention with some indecipherable comment, and motioned us into the compound. Without any hesitation, we moved quickly inside, in complete disbelief.

The palace was incredible. Giant tombs of the previous Dalai Lama's sit in narrow rooms with tall, ominious ceilings. Precious jewels cover the gold boxes that house the remains, along with exceptionally ornate decoration. Thousands of Buddha statues sit housed in glass cabinets. They once were scattered throughout the palace, but have since been gathered and imprisoned after the Chinese occupation. Thrones, shrines, beautifully detailed models of other temples and palaces, and countless other rooms make the Potala Palace a wonder to behold. As with Jokhang Palace, pictures were not permitted in the interior. Sorry.

From Tibet we flew back into China, and the next day, into Thailand. A Thai post will hopefully follow sometime in the near future. Only time will tell.