Que pasa, Lhasa?

I've said once or twice that in Beijing, so much happens in one day that there's too much to say. Well, one day in Lhasa is like three in Beijing. There's too much to fit in to photographs or blog updates. I just wish I could upload what I'm seeing and put it here.

Tuesday we went to Drepung Monastery. Actually, we had planned to go to the Potala Palace on Tuesday, but we got to the line to buy tickets and discovered that you have to reserve tickets in advance. we still bought a ticket, but it was for Tuesday at 2 o'clock. I remembered reading in my guide book about a temple 3 kilometers outside of Lhasa that looked promising, but of course, I forgot the name. So we hailed a cab and asked the driver about that temple or something outside of Lhasa. Surprisingly, he got us to the right place, a humongous, gorgeous monastery situated on the side of a huge mountain.





Yeah, it's hard to be in such a beautiful place. We had no idea what we were in for, but the 50 Yuan entrance price was well worth it. Drepung is a labyrinth of stairs, temples, and random buildings. We spent four hours there, but we probably could have stayed longer if we had brought food.




I guess this is what people of when they think of Tibet; a monastery, monks, beautiful scenery, peaceful surroundings. It was nice to get away from the city and see the city from the mountains instead of the mountains from the city. There was a little river and places for climbing around; we did some of that.







Drepung is just one of those perfect tourist attractions. The Potala is Lhasa's most famous landmark, but Drepung is bigger, more beautiful, quieter, and not overrun by those ever-present waiguo ren (oh wait...).




I've put up a lot of pictures of me because I feel like it's proof that I've been here. I think once I leave, I'll feel like I was never here. We need some proof to counteract that.






Drepung is also mostly outside, so we were in the sun the whole morning. My scalp started to get sunburned, so I used my scarf as a head cover. We joked that every day, Chinese people think I am from a different country: France, Russia, Italy; but with the cover on my head, I looked more like I come from the Middle East. So Annetta and Jason have decided that I look like I could be from anywhere except Asia or Africa. We also all agree that I shouldn't have been born American.







The best thing about Drepung is that we could just wander around wherever we wanted. There were no signs that told us we couldn't go somewhere; we could take pictures just about anywhere, though in some temples you had to pay 10 or 20 Yuan; the monks were just walking around and friendly and willing to have their pictures taken.







A few times we accidentally wandered into their living quarters, where we probably weren't supposed to be, but they just looked at the three stupid waiguo ren and told us how we could get out.




The place was a maze, but we made it to the very back, which was dark, un-restored, and quiet. We wandered up an unstable ladder to the roof of some living quarters (perhaps techinically not allowed) and got the greatest view ever. We got Jason out from behind the camera (for once), so here are Jason and I. Isn't it gorgeous?



I took a lot of pictures—I filled up a whole memory card (250ish pictures). And yet, Jason beat me. Not that it was a competition. He took 1232 pictures. Most of the ones on the blog are his. But I won't tell you which and then you can think that I'm a fabulous photographer.

In our time here in Lhasa, the three of us have been actively seeking out the “authentic” Tibet. We want to eat authentic Tibetan food, buy authentic Tibetan jewelry or bags or clothes, and see authentic Tibetan sights. Every time we go to a restaurant, we ask for “didao” (authentic) dishes. But every time we do, I feel like it's kind of a joke. What is the “authentic” Tibet? Is it the old people walking down the street carrying beads and prayer wheels? Or is it the migrant workers who have lived here for years just trying to make a living? The monks? The fake antique junk vendors sell in stalls? As hard as we try to find the “authentic” Tibet, I feel like it doesn't exist. That doesn't mean that we should go out and eat American food for every meal, and that doesn't mean we should buy total junk knowingly (or at least pay too much for it), but I think that Lhasa has been too overcome by industrialization, commercialization, and tourism for there to be an “authentic” Tibet.

Would you like Yak with that?

The good thing about starting off a vacation with a trip to the hospital is that things can only get better. Since I spent Saturday resting and not eating good food, I was ready for Sunday to start. In the morning we went to the grocery store and stocked up on more candy and bought sunglasses. I'm not a sunglasses person, but the sun here is so bright, it seems like Lhasa is constantly overexposed by about 2 stops. For lunch we went to the Potala Restaurant, where we ordered us our first authentic Tibetan meal.

Tibetan cuisine is not, as the Chinese would say, "fengfu duocai," or 'rich and varied.' Their diet consists of meat (mostly Yak), potatoes, and bread, any of which can be served alone or combined, and all of which are frequently fried. Now, given the location and climate of Tibet, the utter lack of vegetables, fruits and pretty much anything else should not come as a surprise. It tastes nothing like Chinese food, and actualy, it's really good.

First we ordered these curried potatoes.



They were cooked just right; not mushy and overcooked, not firm and undercooked, and seeped with spices and oil.

Next was what I like to call, Hunk of Yak.



Because that's what it is. A huge fatty hunk of tender, subtly spiced Yak served with a heaping side of small, red baked potatoes.



And then, the piece de resistance, we had what we fondly call, "Xizang xinzang bing rolls." 'Xizang' is Chinese for Tibet, and 'xinzang bing' is heart disease. Therefore, we called these, "Tibetan Heart Disease Rolls."

Because that's what they are. Bread pockets stuffed with Yak meat and then deep fried and served with a side of spicy red pepper sauce. I can still feel them clogging my arteries. And I ate three of them. Yes, I am disgusting.

We also sampled the Tibetan specialty of Yak Butter Tea. Pretty much tastes how it sounds. Buttery tea, sometimes sweetened, sometimes not, and therefore, salty.

Then we went out shopping. Yes! The stores here are stocked with my kinds of stuff- tons of cool jewelry and bags and clothes. I bought some pretty earrings. The thing is, I'm a little bit of a quality snob. I would rather pay a little more for things that aren't total crap. The streets are filled with vendors stalls selling "antique" Tibetan goods. Yeah, I'd say they're about as antique as a newly minted quarter, which is about what they're worth.



The streets of Tibet are not like those of any other Chinese (Tibet is, good or bad, *technically* a part of China) city that I have been to. Here, there's a lot less spitting in the streets. Note that I did not say "no" spitting in the streets; it still exists, sadly. Here, people whistle at each other to get another's attention. In general, the streets are just quieter. There's a lot less shouting, and since there are fewer people, a lot less shoving.

Another sad thing is that there are beggars everywhere. A lot of them are monks and even more of them are children. When we walk by, parents instruct their children to beg from us. And then the kids come up to us, grab on to us, follow us pleadingly with their hands out asking, in English, for money. They follow us and they don't leave us alone; it gets to the point that we have to shoo them away like flies. It's heartbreaking. It's not the kid's fault that their parents don't have money and rely on their children to turn pity into profit, but what are we supposed to do? Annetta refuses to give them money because the kids will give it to their parents, and she doesn't like that. So instead we came up with another solution. We put a bunch of the candy that we bought and don't really like into a bag. Annetta carries the bag around in her purse and gives the kids a piece of candy instead of money. It still doesn't make the kids stop pestering us for money, but at least it's nicer than shooing a person away.

Monday we decided to see Lhasa. We had a cab take us to the Potala Palace. Here I am in front of it:



Then we started walking with no particular plan. That's my favorite part of being in a new place, just walking around, seeing what the place is like, and forming my own mental map. It's like a game; I love trying to get us back to where we started.

We came across these lovely Yak statues. Notice how the sense of Tibetan authenticity is heightened by the advertisement.



A little later we came to an intersection. When faced with the choices of "left, right, or straight," Jason said, "Look at all those people coming from the left. Let's see what's down there."



Good call Jason. What we ended up finding was a back alley, a place for locals. There were some small shops, carts selling produce, and not a single waiguo ren to be seen. How come my travel book didn't mention this place? It's a damn good thing it doesn't though, otherwise the place would be crawling with waiguo ren.

Tucked away in this back street was a store that sells traditional Tibetan dresses. There are stores near our hotel that sell the same thing, and Annetta and I had agreed that we both wanted to buy one. We figured that this was the best place to buy them; not only would they likely be cheaper, but also, it's where the locals get their dresses and, in my opinion, it makes for a better story behind the dress.

So we three waiguo ren walked into the dress shop and started looking. The shopkeeper didn't speak a word of English-- a good sign! She found someone who spoke Mandarin and from then on, it was chaos.



Annetta and I created quite the spectacle. We were just trying on the dresses, but tons of locals stopped by to look and laugh at us, and in a few cases, some women stopped in to offer their opinions as to which colors we should be matching and how we should wear the clothes. The shopkeeper informed us that we were the second waiguo ren ever to set foot in her store. A proud day for non-waiguo-ren waiguo ren everywhere! While it was awkward to be so blatantly gawked at, it was also a blast, and we got our tops, dresses, and skirt fronts for 230 Yuan. At the stores by our hotels, they go for 400-500 Yuan.

New dresses in hand, we walked down the street and found an outdoor temple, where dozens of people were praying. People pray there so ofthen that the stone ground where they lay down is worn smooth and shiny.





Part of the temple area was a path along the side of a mountain. Walking that path was the first time I felt that I was truly in Tibet. Hundreds if not thousands of lines of Tibetan prayer flags were strung up the mountain and along the path.







I love that, while the natural climate of Tibet is sparse and brown and bare, their culture and their religion utilize so many bright colors.





After that we ended up in the Chinese section of Lhasa, which basically looks, feels, and probably tastes like every other standard Chinese city in China. There were only Chinese restaurants. We walked through but made a point of not eating there. We went in search of authentic Tibetan food and ended up at a restaurant that my book recommended. Unfortunately, it wasn't that good (maybe because they don't use MSG) and left us very unsatisfied. They even served us a Yak curry on one of the same trays that we have in our cafeteria.

After a brief rest, we ventured to the Muslim quarter of Lhasa. It was great-- another virtually-waiguo-ren-free district! The streets were narrow and quiet but bustling with residents. There were tons of small stores, open pool halls, and really small bakeries (once again, it's your choice between meat, potatoes, or bread fried to varying degrees). Since we're all eating buddies and list eating among our top two passions, we caved and bought some bread from a bakery.



It was alright but not spectacular. We kept walking throught the streets, which reminded me a little of the movie "The Battle of Algiers." Though this movie does not, surprisingly, take place in Lhasa, I felt a little like I was in the streets of Algiers from the film. The buildings were similarly constructed and close together. So sue me, I got some Algiers in Tibet.

We also found a street vendor selling these yellow-bready-cakey things that we saw another vendor selling on our first day here. When we saw them that first day, we said, "We definitely have to buy some of those." And look at that, we stumbled upon a vendor whipping up a fresh batch.



So we stood by for about 15 minutes just so we could take one of the fresh ones.



We decided that they're the equivalent of corn bread, except not really. They're basically some honey, flour, and milk battered together and poured into pans heavily, heavily lined in oil. Their firm-ish on the outside and soft and chewy and mushy on the inside. They taste a little sweet, a little sour, and have a fruity aftertaste, though I can't pin the fruit. Maybe Lychee. I think it's from the honey.

Then, though we had just eaten two types of bread, we set off with the distinct purpose of eating Muslim food. You would think that, in the Muslim quarter, a Muslim restaurant would be relatively easy to find. Not really. Most of them are tea houses that don't serve food. We walked into a couple and got some very strange looks. Finally, we found this restaurant:



Once again, no waiguo ren! It was great. We asked the waiter for special Muslim food, and he recommended this chicken.



Fantastic. It was chicken, potatoes, and peppers stewed up in a slightly sweet slightly salty sauce. The potatoes were the highlight of the dish, since they soaked up lots of flavor and oil. The chicken was served with handmade flat noodles. I don't usually do noodles but I ate these.

We also got a lovely eggplant dish:



And this. It's fantastic. It's potato, meat, and spices cooked once or twice in lots and lots of oil.



Spectacular. Truly heavenly.

As with all our other meals, we ate way, way, way too much. every day, I've probably eaten the caloric equivalent of at least five meals. I feel guilty, but I feel fantastic. Nothing like eating my way around Lhasa. But what's more, there's nothing like eating my way around Lhasa with two people who love eating as much as I do. Every night, after stuffing ourselves full of edible Tibetan wonders, we come back to the room, eat tons of candy, and play cards. Every day is an adventure.

Today was an even bigger one, but I've already been updating for an hour and a half. I'll save today for tomorrow.

I am an awful waiguo ren. Tonight, I had dinner at a Western restaurant, and I'm in Tibet. And I ordered chicken broth. The only people in the place were white. I am so ashamed. But there's a little more to that story, and I promise, it's good.

Yesterday we left school at 6 AM to catch our flight at the airport. The end of it is, we got here safely. The view from the plane as we descended into Lhasa was amazing. Here is one photo, but I took many more.



So we got in, got luggage, and then had the task of finding a cab into Lhasa, and hour's drive away. Jason asked an airport official, who informed us that a cab ride should go for about 30 kuai a head. We couldn't actually find a metered taxi, though, so we had the task of bargaining with the Tibetan guys who just drive their cars around. Actually, I shouldn't say "we" bargained, because really, it was all Annetta, and she was awesome. Here are three of the guys fighting about the price with us. There were a few more on the other side.



They started out asking 200 kuai; Anetta got us down to 35. They weren't happy, so clearly she did a good job. But then the guy ended up driving us for 5 minutes and switching us into a metered taxi. Apparently the airport charges taxis to wait there, so what these guys do is just go in their cars, pick up visitors, then hand them off to taxi drivers for a cut of the charge. Pretty smart, actually.



Our cab driver thought that I was Jason's 'laopo,' which those Chinese speakers out there may find amusing, if only for the fact that 'laopo' means wife, but it's also not the politest way to put it. I guess in English the equivalent would be one's 'old lady.'



So then we got to the hotel, which is quite nice. I started drinking lots of water, as Lhasa's altitude is about 12000 feet, which is rather high. I was very paranoid about getting AMS, or acute mountain sickness. The three of us made the mistake of carrying our suitcases up two flights of stairs. We were exhausted; just walking up without stuff leaves us winded. This must be what it's like to be an old lady. Even getting up to go to the bathroom makes my heart pound.

It didn't take long for me to get a splitting headache. I drank tons of water, but I still felt lightheaded and awful. The three of us had some quality Nepalese food at the restaurant on top of the hotel last night. Here's the view:





Yep. Life is hard. The sun here doesn't set until like 8:30 and doesn't rise until maybe 8ish. The sun is SO strong. I can feel the cancer cells growing. Surprisingly, it;s not very cold here. It was cool in the morning but warm in the afternoon. Don't let the snow on the mountains fool you; the weather us gorgeous. Unfortunately, I haven't had much of a chance to really enjoy it.

Last night we fell asleep at like 9. None of us slept well, but I kept waking up every three hours with a headache. My body hurt, too, but I think that's the uncomfortable bed. Then I woke up at 8 o'clock. The second I gained consciousness, I knew I was going to vomit.

I then spent the next 40 minutes in the bathroom as last night's dinner made it's way out of both ends of my body. I knew this was not a good sign; vomiting never is. Annetta went to the front desk to ask about what to do; they said get thee to the hospital. When Annetta told me that, I was not happy, only because I didn't know how I would get down the stairs, let alone survive a cab ride. I felt so ill I could barely tie my shoes.

Through my stomach pains and throbbing headache, the thoughts did cross my mind that perhaps a Chinese hospital, let alone a Tibetan hospital, might not be a fun experience. I pictured reused needles, herds of coughing people corralled in a small, crumbling, fluorescently-lit room with IVs dangling at whim.

Thankfully I was wrong. Somewhat. The hospital was clean(-ish) and cold. Jason registered me and then we found the altitude sickness/ heart disease room. The way it works here is that everyone gets in line in the room that pertains to their illness. Everyone sits on the bench in the room as the person who is up gets checked out. So we listened to quite a few people get diagnosed with "xinzang bing," or heart disease (one of our vocab words!). Basically, there's no privacy. Everyone watches as everyone gets examined. Fun.

When it was my turn, the doctor took one look at my eyes and made a face that, though she was wearing a face mask, conveyed concern. Not good. I described my symptoms, she pressed my stomach, listened to me breath, took my blood pressure etc. Then she sent me to the eye doctor. I have no idea why, as the eye doctor didn't tell me anything, but after that I went back to the first doctor and she gave me three different medications.

In the end, I paid 78 kuai, or just under 10 USD. What an experience. The whole time I was there, I could only think about what a great story this would make. And also the fact that my family would not be so happy to find out that I was in a Tibetan hospital and sick.

I am feeling much, much better now, so if you're concerned, don't be. I still have a headache, but after a day of watching a movie, taking a nap, and eating lots of bread, I feel back up to about 80% (versus maybe 30-40% this morning). Jason and Annetta have been wonderful. I know that they weren't feeling too hot today either (though Annetta is pretty much fine), but they took great care of me.

Tomorrow we plan to take it pretty easy again, though I think we're going to venture out and walk around and do some shopping. I'm pretty much planning on getting a new wardrobe and lots of jewelry. Let the games begin!

To get to the other side?

I know it's been a long time, and for that I apologize. Part of it is that I seem to have less and less time, but really it's the fact that my computer got fixed. And then it broke again for good. Now it's just a shiny, rather expensive paper weight. I'm just posting as many random pictures as I can. Have fun.

And now I find myself with so much to write that I have nothing to say.





Almost two weeks ago I celebrated my 21st birthday in Anyang. It was wonderful. I celebrated by eating with my friends for four days. Actually, the only thing that made the dinners any different was the fact that we said it was my birthday and used that as an excuse to eat more. Some people celebrate turning 21 by drinking themselves sick; I celebrated by eating myself sick.

I'll spare you the details, but the culinary highlights inclyded pigeon with the head still attached, donkey, and a Thai-style dessert that Annetta made for me.




A lot of you must think I have problems, given my preoccupation for all things edible. The other day, I called my parents on the phone for the first time since I arrived in Beijing. I told them that I love China because people sell pineapple on every street corner.

"ellis, now that you're 21, there's something I need to tell you," my dad said. Perchance we own a pineapple farm in Costa Rica. Or maybe I'm adopted, or he's a mob boss or a CIA agent. That would be cool.

"Not everything in life revolves around food."

Wait--what? Why not? Without food, life would be like a pie crust without the filling-- dry and lacking a definite flavor (or ready to crumble at any moment). What's wrong with falling in love with a country via its cuisine? The only bad meal I've had in China has been "Greek" food. Maybe the MSG works like a date rape drug, I don't know, but with every meal I'm growing more attached to China. I have a fruit lady, a pineapple guy, and a growing list of restaurants that I've gone to repeatedly. If theres a better way to understand a country than through it's food, I don't know what it is.

Maybe life in America doesn't revolve around food, at least, not for most people, but in China it does. One of the things I love about walking down the street here is the way it sounds and smells. It's an intense mix of pineapple, sausages, yams, meat skewers, smells tofu, socks, shirts, and bags. Some people complain about the smell of China. Overall, America doesn't really smell. But China does-- like feet, like food, like bathroom. It smells lived in, and it smells like people take pleasure in what they eat. That's my kind of culture.

Tomorrow early morning, I am going to Tibet. I'm not done packing, it's late, and we're getting up early, and I think I'm getting a cold. But excited does not describe how I'm feeling. I can only describe it in adjectives that don't usually describe feelings. The way I feel is the way I imagine Lhasa to be; I can't wait to see if I'm right.

Sunday I was sitting in the park writing my miderm essay. The weather was too good to spend inside; I haven't felt sun like that for awhile. A guy sat on the bench next to me. We passed a few minutes in silence as I continued to write about equality between men and women.



"Ni hao. Is this your Chinese name, Fu WenLi?" He pointed to my name at the top of my essay.



And then we started talking about Chinese language, culture, sexual equality, and housing in Beijing (he's a realtor). He corrected my essay, wrote out a paragraph for me (which Tianqi said was a little strange) and we exchanged cell phone numbers, as he promised to take us out for dinner and introduce us to some Chinese friends.





I don't know why he started talking to me. Most people prefer to stare, so it's nice to know that there are people out there who are willing to interact with the strange waiguo ren sitting on the bench.



I should have something more concrete to say after Tibet. Maybe I'll find some internet there and let you know what it's like.





I think it will be blue.



I've been trying to think of a punch line for this joke:
Why did the waiguo ren cross the road?

Any thoughts?