Now

Here in Kangding, I have no idea what day it is. I'm at the Tibetan restaurant downstairs from the hotel. Drinking Lhasa sweet tea from a tall clear glass while Tibetan music plays noisily. It's cold. I'm warming my hand on the glass. I have a headache. Outside the street is bustling with honking cars. I'm waiting for my breakfast of scrambled eggs with tomato and tibetan bread with yak butter.
In Kangding, street vendors sell potato slices on skewers roasted in hot oil. Girls have unbelievably long pony tails. The Tibetan waitresses sing while working. The streetlights have mantras on them--prayers glowing in the dark. There are Chinese shops of jewelry and tea bowls. Malas and rugs. A whole shop of bizarre plastic curtains--all hanging throughout the store so you have to walk through as in a maze. Tea shops full of smoking men in suitcoats. A whole shop of stuffed, standing Tibetan antelop wearing yellow khataks.