Kangding--Traditionally the Border Between China and Tibet

River rushing through the center of town.

View of a monastery from Malaya Restaurant.

Cool looking tiny corner store.

Fancy teapots and teapot warmers for sale.

Sichuan hotpot!

K after the burn.

Nightly dancing in the town square.

Chinese peaches for sale on the street.

Backtracking...

Here is another old-ish story I'm in the process of working on. I might have posted bits and pieces of this before back in 2008:

In the summer, one of my teachers laughed, said, “Are you sure?” when I said I was going to Tibet. “But the roads are so high—you’ll get sick...” “Yes, of course I’m going!” I laughed in disbelief.

But first, we were in China, in Chengdu, trying to recover from jet lag. In Chengdu, there was never any garbage on the streets. It was orderly. There were trash cans and recycling bins and people in orange vests sweeping with twig brooms taller than themselves seemingly day and night. In Chengdu there was pomelo fever, a strange fancy Pizza Hut. At Air China's cashier window, they counted Keith's money on an abacus.

In Chengdu, our hotel included huge buffet breakfasts: egg fried rice, tiny bits of bacon dripping grease, prune sticky rice wrapped in tiny banana leaf packets, fried dough buns, huge sections of pomelo and tea mixed with sweetened condensed milk as rain streamed off eaves. After breakfast, I cupped my hands, let them fill with water, washing the stickiness away.

But soon it was time for us to head to Tibet. We had our Lonely Planet guide. We had Keith's rudimentary Tibetan. Armed with that, and packets of ramen, bread, peanut butter and acetazolamide, we boarded a bus.

On the bus along the Tibet-Sichuan Highway from Kangding to Chengdu, there were strange Tibetan music videos playing. We passed billboards of smiling Tibetans next to Chinese military men and women. Huge sacks of fresh walnuts for sale, kiwis and kiwis and kiwis.

It was eight hours from Chengdu to Kangding--an historical border town between China and Tibet. With those eight hours came a huge gain in elevation. We arrived in the city at 8,400 feet.  In Kangding, the source of the Mekong, the Dza Chu River, flowed through town and mountains rose all around, Buddhas painted upon them.

There were only a few hotels approved for foreigners. And so we stayed in a shared room at the Black Hat guesthouse with two American girls who taught English in Chengdu. The room had brightly painted old-style wooden beds and wires sticking out of the wall with a note below that said in English, "Do not lick."

In Kangding, I had no idea what day it was. I went to a Tibetan restaurant downstairs from a hotel and drank Lhasa sweet tea from a tall clear glass while Tibetan music played noisily. It was fall. It was cold. I warmed my hand on the glass. I had a headache. Outside the street bustled with honking cars while I waited for my breakfast of scrambled eggs with tomato and tibetan bread with yak butter. There was an ATM and yak momos oozing buttery meat juice.
 
In Kangding, street vendors sold round potato slices on skewers that had been fried in hot oil. Girls had unbelievably long pony tails. The Tibetan waitresses sang while working. The streetlights had mantras on them--prayers glowing in the dark. There were Chinese shops of jewelry and tea bowls. Malas and rugs. A whole shop of bizarre plastic curtains--all hanging throughout the store so you had to walk through as though in a maze. Tea shops full of smoking men in suitcoats. A whole shop of stuffed, standing Tibetan antelope wearing yellow khataks.

Somehow, we ended up meeting the Dalai Lama's step-nephew. He helped us buy bus tickets, took us for tea, bought us dramamine for the next bus ride which would take us deeper into Tibet.

I Promise after this no more pictures of Tibet

Various stupas in Tibet


Om Mani Padme Hung

Vajrasattva on rock, behind here the dzogchen lung was transmitted
House of Dzogchen Pema Kalsang Rinpoche in the retreat center at Dzogchen Monastery
The Monks who showed us the holy sites at Dzogchen
The Shedra (Monastic College) at Dzogchen
Zangdopalri under construction outside Dzogchen Retreat Center

Dzogchen Monastery Tibet

Patrul Rinpoche Cave
Rock Where Shri Singha Meditated
Inside Shedra Temple
Shedra Temple at Dzogchen Monastery

More of Tibet

Best Momos ever, in Tibet

Glacial Valley on way to Dzogchen, Tibet

A quick stop to spin the prayer wheel and circumabulate the stupa on the Trola Pass

Sick and trying to Practice without any Power in Cold Dege, Tibet

Local Tibetan Women passing by in Dege, Tibet

Few more shots of Tibet

Sunset in Ganzi, Tibet

In the glacial valley outside Manigango, Tibet

Enjoying a break in Kangding, Tibet

Ganzi, Tibet

Ganzi, Tibet

Some More Tibet Photos

More Tibet Photos........

This must have been at the beginning of a bus ride--not 12 hrs in!


When Keith alerted me to the fact that this man was taking our picture on his cell phone, I took his.

This guy asked to have his photo taken on the street in Derge.


The printing press monastery, Derge.

The Lung cont.

We were speeding down the off road of the Tibet-Schiuan highway into the fields of Manigango in our little toy van. The road quickly disappeared beneath our wheels and we undulated over mounds of dirt toward Dzogchen Monastery. All trace of buildings disappeared and the rolling hills were dotted with black nomad tents billowing smoke and endless herds of yak grazing on the green. We were surrounded by large mountains on all three sides and heavy clouds began to loom overhead. I was desperate to get to this monastery carrying the loss of not making it to Palyul but I kept my eye on the storm hoping it would wait for us to traverse the pass. The roads in Tibet often fluctuate between paved and non-existent, this road was dirt but seemed ok if it would hold up. I asked the driver " Di Lam Ya Pon Dug" ( Is this road good?) hoping to find out some information about the next 1hr and 1/2 of travel. He said, " Di Lam Ya Pon Min Dug" (this road is not good), "Pem Po Jab" I said (sucks to be us). He barreled on and we climbed and climbed and climbed in our little van and the road roughened and roughened. Like so many times before in eastern Tibet I got the feeling we were out there, out there in the wild. As we climbed it began to rain and the road started to turn to mud, I wasn't too worried we would make it there but I began to wonder if conditions would permit our return. The pass was beautiful and nerve wracking, the rain remained fairly light but still taxed our barely functional wind shield wipers.
After about 2hrs into the mountains we saw the Dzogchen Village, bordered by large Stupas. We descended into a glacial valley (altitude unknown, later we learned higher than even Derge). We travelled through the little village and into the monastery compound. The grounds were untamed and wild, hermitages and temples seeming built right into the mountain side. There was a monastery, a shedra (monastic college), a nunnery and a retreat center, all complete with their own temples and communities. The retreat center was surrounded on three sides by a glacier. There was a large tent community of pilgrims and lay Tibetans residing outside the retreat center constantly engaged in practice. There was an undeniable energy in the entire valley and Jenn found it a bit overwhelming, I felt like I wanted to stay here forever.
We had so many temples to choose from, we were not sure where to go first and our driver didn't offer much advise. I pointed to a smaller temple straight ahead and we drove there first. We gathered our camera, our katags our texts and anything else we might need and headed toward the temple. As we walked toward the temple compound three monks mounted the hill and I asked them "Di Gompa Ka re re?" (what temple is this). They told me " Di Shedra Gompa Re" (this is the monastic college temple. They instantly became our guides, one monk happened to be the key holder of the temple and let us in. We were alone in there with the monks and we began to do some practice together. The temple was beautiful and ornately decorated, the head Lama's (Dzogchen Pema Kelsang Rinpoche) picture sat on a large throne.
My Tibetan language skills improved miraculously as I somehow communicated with the monks who we were, where we had come from, what we were doing there, etc. I somehow understood when they told me they were students of the shedra and that they would take us to see the sacred spots of Dzogchen. One of the monks ran to his room and returned with mendrup (a sacred medicine made in the monastery and taken as a blessing pill to increase the experience of practice). He also gave us a picture of Dzogchen Pema Kelsang Rinpoche. I asked if we could meet with the high Tulku and they said yes and pointed to the retreat center.
The three monks then guided us into the hillside explaining to me (I couldn't beleive how much I was understanding) and I translated to Jenn, all the sacred spots here. We first went to the rock where Shri Singha meditated on his way from China to India to meet with Manjushrimitra to receive the Dzogchen teachings. Shri Singha is one of the most revered and historical figures of Dzogchen. Next they brought us to Patrul Rinpoche's cave where he worked on composing one of his famouns texts. Paltrul Rinpoche was one of the most famous Nyingmapa meditators of his time and composed many elegant texts explaining the view, meditation and conduct of our current tradition of practice. They then took us to a large rock where Khenpo Ngachung had revealed a terma (treasure teaching) on Dakini (enlightened female) practice directly from the rock.
Now this pilgrimage to Tibet had taken root in me, we were here at the places I had read about, paying homage to the lineage masters of the past and connecting with the living tradition of today.
We then headed to the retreat center and on the way down the road I saw a large rock with a painting of Vajrsattva on it, I told Jenn, " I have to go there before we leave". We visited the retreat center and cirumambulated the temple, we spoke with some more monks and arranged to meet with Dzogchen Rinpoche. We waited while he remained in meditation but the clouds continued to loom and Jenn urged me to head back. I conceded and gave an offering to one of the monks to deliver to Dzogchen Rinpoche for me and we headed toward the car. As we were heading away from the retreat center I saw the large painted rock again and asked the driver to stop.
I was sure this was a spot where I would find some holy object, cave or other pilgrimage site and climbed up the steep hill to the rock. I snapped a photo of the beautiful painting and a lay Tibetan man appeared from behind the rock. He laughed at me and pointed up the hill. I pointed in the same direction with a questioning look on my face and he nodded and pointed again. I climbed the hill, short of breath and the car disappeared behind me, I figured there was another cave this way. As soon as a mounted that hill another lay Tibetan man was there and he pointed up at a small hut, again I pointed and he acknowledged. This must be the cave of so and so I thought. I reached the steps of the small wooden hut stuck right into the mountain and looked back one more time at the man and he gestured for me to enter. I took off my shoes and walked up the steps.
As soon as I crossed the threshold I saw a yogi/monk sitting in his bed/meditation seat, he looked at me with some strange recognition and smiled. I offered three prostrations and entered at his request. I offered a katag and he smiled and we talked in my broken Tibetan. He was attended by a monk from the monastery and was remaining in retreat in this small cabin. It was just four walls maybe 5ft by 6ft with only a bed/cushion inside. I mentioned Dzogchen practice and he looked at me straight in the eye, he held there for probably 10sec, it seemed like over a minute, I didn't blink and I felt like he was looking right through me. He smiled and reached into his bed, he pulled out a text. He asked me to read the title to him in Tibetan and I did, this pleased him. He then said, this text is very very profound, written by one of the great lineage holders of Dzogchen and contained the pith instructions of the Dzogchen path.
He began to chant invoking the blessings of the lineage masters of Dzogchen and his attendant shrunk out of the cabin and we were alone. He performed further prayers of aspiration and then began to transmit the text to me (LUNG pronounced LOONG in Tibetan). I sat silent and listened to the transmission, dark fell and he read from the text in the dimming light. I soaked in the sounds of the dharma and soaked in the ambiance of this small hermitage and this man. Why was he giving me this transmission, could this really be happening, here at Dzogchen Gompa in eastern Tibet tucked into the side of the mountain overlooking the whole of the monastery and the glacial valley, I was sure this was why His Holiness Penor Rinpoche said it is the right time for me to go to Tibet, despite the fact that His Holiness Karma Kuchen told me it was not a good time to visit Palyul.
I had come to Tibet to visit Palyul, but Tibet had different plans for me, both Penor Rinpoche and Karma Kuchen were right and in this moment I felt like I had accomplished my goal of the pilgrimage to Tibet. How all the causes and conditions had to assemble for this moment to take place.
The yogi/monk explained he was the Dzogchen Khenpo Pema Ranjung and placed the text on my head. He wrapped the text in a white silk scarf and handed it to me. He asked me to spend the night there but I had to apologize, we had to get to a lower altitude and I knew Jenn was waiting. He said no need to apologize and we dedicated the merit of the transmission together. He said he hoped we would meet again and I agreed. Then I was off as quickly as I had came and this short dream was over.
As we headed back up the mountain I was still trying to process what had just taken place as I held this text on my lap. As we climbed in our little van the road had washed away quite a bit and the clouds loomed all around. Jenn began to recite mantra and I just relaxed knowing if we were to slide of this mountain now it was what was meant to be because we were certainly meant to come here. As we reached higher on the pass we were swallowed by a cloud in a complete white out and the driver burst into mantra, at that moment I was a little worried.

A Trip to the Derge Hospital

Keith was definitely sick.

We were at 13,200ft--even higher than Lhasa--what felt like the highest city in the world--in Derge, Tibet.

In Derge, rich looking women wore black velvet aprons over leather chupas. Gobs of coral and turquoise in their hair and ears, silver sheathed daggers hung from waists.

In Derge, sweetness. Smiles and tashi deleks. All the children laughing, calling hello after us.

The people of Derge had cell phones and TV's, electricity and washing machines.

But what maybe they didn't have the need for, and certainly did not have, was adequate western health care.

Keith had been coughing and coughing and I was starting to get sick too--so we decided we should get checked by a doctor. Easier said than done.

Down in the hotel lobby we asked the Tibetan girl manning the desk for a menkang (hospital) or menpa (doctor). "Meo, meo" she kept saying in Chinese, although ironically, there was an ambulance parked directly outside.

Next to the front desk, there was posted a sign with numbers to call for tourist information, medical emergencies, first aid, etc. We'd tried these numbers from the phone in our room--but to no avail--after two weeks in China we still couldn't figure out how to use the phones. We gestured for the girl to call one of the numbers on the hotel phone. She kept chanting, "No, no," shaking her head.

At this point I was overwhelmed by a sense of fear--we were so far from anything and we just couldn't communicate--what if something seriously bad happened! I must admit, I succumbed to tears (not the first or last time on this trip). At that moment, two Chinese men came into the lobby, curiously eyeing me. Keith tried to tell them we needed a doctor and miracualously, one of the men knew that word in English. A look of recognition passed over his face and he wrote something on a piece of paper for us, gesturing for us to show it to a taxi driver.

So we hailed a taxi and were driven just about 2 minutes up the road to what looked like an abandoned building, with a gate drawn across the entrance. "That place?!" we gestured in disbelief. The driver shook his head yes.

So we got out of the taxi, not a person in sight. Keith pushed the gate open and we stepped through the threshold. It sort of looked like it could be a hospital--or maybe once was. There was what looked to be a pharmacy in front of us-but not a soul around. "Hello!" Keith yelled, and after a few minutes a Chinese man came down the stairs. He gestured for us to follow him across the street and down the stairs into another abandoned building and up some stairs.

He led us into a cold, dingy-walled room. There was a large aluminum ketttle on some sort of tiny burner on the floor next to a TV broken in half. In front of a window were two desks pushed together piled with stacks of papers. And seated facing each other at the desks were two people in white coats--a Chinese man and a Tibetan woman. They appeared to be doing paperwork and didn't look up when we entered the room, continuing with their paperwork.

Our escort finally got their attention, speaking rapidly in Chinese. The woman stared blankly at him, then us, then laughed. The man kept on with his work, ignoring us altogeher--a frown darkening his forehead. Keith looked through his guidebook for the words for sick and we showed them our card from the Global Doctor clinic in Chengdu that asked in Chinese if they would please call their number (the clinic had told us their nurses could translate for us 24 hrs a day). Finally the male doctor looked up, appraising us with a disgusted look on his face. Then all three shook their heads saying, "Meo, Meo." "We're sick," I futiley said, and yes began to cry.

Although my tears caused the two doctors to look even more disgusted by us, they luckily seemed to move our escort as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number. But alas, his phone didn't work. So he made the woman get out her phone and this time the call went through! She spoke in Chinese and then passed the phone to Keith who tried to explain our situation to the nurse.

After about 45 min. of back and forth on the phone and Keith prodding the doctors to check our vitals--a very cursory listen of our lungs with a stethoscope and a checking of blood pressure, the female doctor kept furrowing her brow, jotting words on a sheet of thin prescription paper, then scratching them out and shaking her head. She'd intermittently say something to the male doctor who would ignore her and keep writing. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he gave a deep sigh, stood up and examined my lungs.

After another forever of suppsed consultation on prescriptions (without any word about why or what), the escort and female doctor ushered Keith outside and told me to stay where I was in the room with the surly male doctor, sitting on some sort of desk against the wall.

The kind doctor and I spent a silent 30 minutes together. Him doing his paperwork, me rubbing my mittened hands together to stay warm--wondering where had they taken Keith and why wasn't he coming back...

The Lung, by Keith

Well even the best laid plans often fall through. We had been in Derge for more than 3 days and as I circumambulated the Derge printing press where over 70% of the extant Tibetan Buddhist literature was stored, it became painfully apparant to me that 70+ year old ladies with canes and a severe limp were lapping me. I began to think maybe the altitude is getting to me (4,000m or 13,200ft). We were doing our best to rest before heading to our final destination in eastern Tibet, the mother monastery of Palyul. We were a mere 4hrs away by hired car but my head cold had progressed to a chest cold and sleep was getting more and more fractured. Jenn began to experience worsening breathlessness at rest and began to develop the early symptoms of the same respiratory infection I was trying to fight off. We were really enjoying our time in this cultural center of Tibetan Buddhism, hanging out at an elevation 1,500ft higher than the claimed rooftop of the world in Lhasa.
We went to bed planning to take a car the following morning to Palyul and I was sleepless with excitement. My excitement was superceded by Jenn's anxiety as she felt she was continuing to worsen with the head cold and breathlessness. I also developed a deep cough and awoke suddenly feeling short of breath and had to prop myself up in bed. We agreed to visit the doctor in the morning and decide from there whether we would be able to leave today for Palyul or continue to wait for the cold to pass before heading onward.
We got a real wake up call when we tried to find a physician and realized facilities were inadequate and english was non-existent. My rudimentary Tibetan had helped us with bus connections, hotel reservations and keeping ourselves nourished with food, but explaining complex physiologic processes and symptoms was not happening for me. (To hear more about the horrific visit to the doctor see Jenn's recent post)
Finally we were told not to continue onward and instead to head back down the mountain to Chengdu as quickly as possible. I was devastated I had travelled all this way and used every resource I had to get us this far and I was so close to Palyul I could almost reach out and grab it. I talked it over with Jenn and it was clear that continuing on would only put us in greater danger and further from any reasonable medical care. We decided we would have to head back and I had to give up my attachment to attaining this goal of pilgrimage to Palyul.
I was happy with what we had seen and how far we had come, with only my limited Tibetan skills and no outside help with regards to how to get from A to B, we had made it Derge some 30hrs drive from the nearest city. We had seen the Nyingmapa monastery Dorje Drag and several others along the way. We visited Derge and the priniting press and had seen an area of the world I had always wanted to see, yet I still felt something was missing, somehow I had not done what I had come to do. I felt I was just to fixated on the goal of reaching Palyul and practicing in our teachers home monastery. I had to let it go.
We decided we would hire a car and head 8hrs to Ganzi and put some distance between ourselves and the high elevation of Derge. I remembered that a 2hr detour from Manigango on the way to Ganzi would put us at the most famous Nyingmapa monastery in all of eastern Tibet, the famed Dzogchen Monastery. Through our previous practices in the Dzogchen lineage of Longchen Nyinthig we had a connection with Dzogchen Monastery and decided we should make the detour.
Unfortunately travelling back to Ganzi required another harrowing trip over the Trola Pass (5,000m surrounded by 6,500m peaks). This time in nothing more than a minature toy car version of a van with wheels that looked like they had been stolen from a wheel barrow. We decided this was what was meant to be and headed of with the driver up, up and up some more. It is clear that all roads in Tibet go up, even the one's that are taking you down, and you never go up just a little, you go up until you are all the way up. The driver spent most of the trip with his head out the window looking at the tires, tires I thought would never support this little van all the way up that pass. He didn't seem to think the tires would hold up either. Every time he leaned his head back in the window, I would say "Di Motar Ya Pon Min Dug" (This car is no good) and he would laugh, "ya pon dug" (Its good) followed immediately by sticking his head back out the window and staring at the tires.
We arrived in Manigango 4hrs later and visited the holy lake of Yilhun Lhatso. We trekked on horse back to the glacial lake and were surrounded by mantras carved into the stones. There was a large stupa and countless prayer flags fluttering in the wind. It started to seem like we were heading toward something instead of away from it.
It took quite a bit of convincing to get my driver to agree to the detour to Dzogchen but finally he conceded and we headed west into the mountains. To Be Continued.

Derge, Tibet 13, 800 ft

No, we're not in a temple--this is the restaurant where we ate thukpa and more thukpa.


Mantra streetlights!


Outside the monastery that makes 70% of all Buddhist texts.


The ubiquitous thermos!


View from downtown.

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.

Trola Pass 5,000m (16,000+ ft)