Tibet, 1988
Diary of Wieland and Ricarda
Travelling to Tibet was not really easy back then, and traveling through the country individually was neither. Fully organized groups to Lhasa were the only official way. With tricks and the help of some Chinese who wanted to make money, they did it their way!
In order to be able to make this journey, they needed money. Wieland worked for weeks at the Ford factory in Cologne. Assembly line work, for hours the same movements, much like Charlie Chaplin’s: „Modern Times“. In order not to go stir crazy, he added and subtracted 4-digit numbers in his head. But then he made mistakes and his colleague next in line had to fix the mistakes. He was very sorry about that, but after a while the mistakes stopped.
Ricarda was a waitress in a Cologne restaurant. Once she served a soup with marrow dumplings to an English guest. The guest: „What is swimming in this soup?” and as Ricarda didn’t know how to translate it, she said: „it’s the inside of the bones.“
After two months, the two had enough together to start their journey. Ricarda is 19, Wieland 20 years old.
July 1988
Friday July 1st, 1988
TAIPEI, 16:24
The worst part of our flight is behind us, 19 hours on the plane. The trip to Amsterdam was great fun, Rütger & Jessi took us there. I won’t see Jessi for one year now. The farewells were done quite quickly and in no time, we were already sitting uncomfortably in the plane. After 7 hours, we landed in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, and after more hideously cramped seats, we arrived in Bangkok. Chaos reigned there. First, we were handed a ticket to Taipei, then an orderly came and asked „Hong Kong?“ and we replied in good faith „Yes“, whereupon he just plucked the ticket from our hands + stuck a sticker on us. We were in a big group, only our names weren’t on the list – chaos. The orderly shouts at us that we shouldn’t go through life dreaming, we would fly to Taipei today. Well, the fact that we (want to) fly to Hong Kong today didn’t get into his skull anymore.
We landed in Taipei at 3:30 am. Getting the transit ticket was also a little feat. As soon as you ask a local, you are shushed in Thai. Well, now we’re sitting here on the ventilation shaft, a good place, and waiting, because the plane to Hong Kong is 2 ½ hours later than expected. The ventilation shaft is so comfortable that we are already considering delaying the flight further and spending the night here.
HONGKONG, 1:00
Hong Kong is insane, my first impression. We found a cheap place to stay at Block A St. 16 in the Holiday Inn Center, approx. 8.- HK$
Saturday July 2nd, 1988
So, we got a bed and sheet at the Travelers Hostel, in a shared room in-between 6 Africans. In the lounge we talked to some travellers. Well, there are still real dropouts, already 7 years on the road, stopping by at home every 2 years for Christmas and working in one city until they have earned a ticket to the next country. They don’t want to go back at all. It’s very strange, for us the trip is something very unusual, here, for the travellers it’s a small fish. We got good tips, now we know where to get cheap visas and tickets and have also heard that you can actually get to Lhasa.
The shower is grubby, and you constantly expect an attack from a horde of bacteria or fungi. But it’s totally bearable. Since we wanted to meet dad, we dragged our backpacks to a dealer nearby. Incidentally, mine has become 3 kg lighter after I discovered Arne’s well-intentioned survival kit. Really, I was absolutely happy about it. Arne surely had a lot of fun, I can see the picture in my mind. We then went over to Hong Kong Island by ferry, 20 pfennigs. There we walked the streets. I think people eat everything here, from chicken claws to pork stomachs.
Everything is flooded with people, advertising signs hang over each other + all over the place, you feel like you are in a James Bond movie. It’s all so new to me, so unreal, so many impressions at once. In the side street we ate a soup at a stand, noodles + soy curdle and vegetables, delicious, 17 HK$ = 4.50 DM together. We bought lychees at one stand, but they were more expensive, because Wieland didn’t say stop, but said never mind. So, we had acquired a huge bag for 30 H dollars. It’s a horribly muggy heat of around 35°C, you’re sweaty all the time. We were looking for Tong Wong’s shop on Cats Road because we hoped to meet dad there at about 5pm. When we walked in, he was already sitting there with his new haircut. We agreed where to meet and set off again. Time flies. After we went through the shops with dad + watched him bargaining, we first went to get our backpacks + also got a new room that dad paid for, 80 HK$ = 20 DM through the dealer.
A Pakistani was thrown out of the room for us + now we have a tiny double room with TV (apparently vital here in this country), air conditioning + even a wardrobe, packed with the Pakistani’s clothes. By the way, our new slippers stink terribly (10 HK$). Tomorrow we’ll get a bigger room, the boy promised us with 100 apologies, that was still occupied today. Then we went across the street to Dad’s Karloon Hotel, lavish, lavish, with an ice cube machine in the hallway… From there to the optician for contact lenses, but they cost 800 HK$ here too, then we wanted to look for the Minolta. 9pm and from there to Chinese food. It was delicious. There was crab soup, noodles with spider crab, fish, a feathered thing + rice, lovely. We walked along the quay through brightly lit Hong Kong. The view to the island is amazing. It’s a panorama that’s almost impossible to capture. You just have to look + suck it in. The huge high-rise buildings begin directly at the sea, the windows of which are illuminated with their neon signs, one bigger than the other + behind them individual mountains, on which lights also shine. It’s just fantastic.
Now I’m lying here on my bed, the rush of the air conditioner in the background, the smell of the plastic slippers in my nose. Wieland is sleeping + I’m wide awake, no wonder, since it’s only 7 o’clock, but here it’s 01:17am and tomorrow I have to get up at 9am. By the way, Hong Kong’s night panorama from above was also amazing.
When we flew in here yesterday at 10:00 after 31 hours, we only saw a few small luminous points on the sea at first, towards the land there were more and more and all of a sudden there was a sea full of lights in front of us. The plane goes so low that you can see the swimming pools on the roofs and even read the neon signs, then comes a turn where you think you can stare into the windows of the houses + the short, tight landing follows. The airport is crowded.
All the way to the Holiday Inn: „You want a room?“ but these guys are a bit dodgy. As are the individual streets in the evening, filled with Chinese + Chinese gossip like in a James Bond movie. Sometimes, however, Hong Kong also somehow reminds me of London, at least in the Chinese Quarter.
Sunday July 3rd, 1988
00:28, 30° C
That’s a little temperature, the air conditioner is running at full speed, but it’s not quite up to it yet, at around 4am at night it gets cold here, so that you reach for the bed throw. At 7am in the morning, Wieland is already jumping around + wanted to perform magic tricks and experience Hong Kong’s early morning life. I was able to calm him until 8.30, after which we were on the street to eat the usual dim sum as per Wieland’s Lonely Planet. Well, in the big city life starts later, so we’re back in our much cooler room. We woke up at noon + went over to the island to look for dim sum there. We found it too, surrounded by Chinese.
Dim Sum: A way of combining breakfast + lunch consists of small treats served in small round bamboo baskets, each containing a few small dumplings. The baskets are stacked on trays or carts that are brought past the tables. So we sat there with baskets of the strangest contents. The first sample tasted quite good and the waste consisted of many small bones, like fingers. I/we didn’t worry + happily continued eating until I suddenly remembered where I knew this shape from, we were just devouring the rooster’s claws that we admired yesterday. I don’t even want to know what the other one was, but it was tasty. There were also Chinese yeast dumplings for dessert.
After dinner we went to the flea market with Dad. We wandered around Hong Kong + finally found ourselves at 6pm at Erik and Tong Wong’s (120 Hollywood Rd.) With them we drove to the „Sea Palace, Jumbo“ in Aberdeen, a huge floating thing brightly lit, with lots of little lights, kitschy like in Disneyland. A massive operation. You could watch how the sea creatures were brought from the fishing boat to huge glass basins for viewing and further processing. The food was fabulous + plentiful, I couldn’t eat as fast as Eric shoved my plate full again.
On the upper floor there were miniatures of old, huge Chinese „gardens“, beautiful. Great buildings, with lakes, bridges, various gardens, small temples + outbuildings. From there we went to the peak. „…because you have one of the most beautiful views from the summit“. Ever since the British settled on the island, the Peak has been THE place to live. The Tai Pans built their summer houses up here to escape the heat and humidity (about 5° colder).
Since it was dark, a sea of lights stretched out below us again. It’s crazy when you see these huge buildings of banks + insurance companies, one trying to be higher than the other. At the moment, the Bank of China is constructing the largest building. The discrepancy between these mammoth buildings and the small traders who offer their wares on the street is hard to believe. On the one hand, some are fighting for a tiny spot where they have their work and home, and next to it incredibly expensive high-rise buildings are being built.
With the Peak Tram, which was built 100 years ago, it went steeply downhill again. Yesterday, dad showed us the “Peninsula Hotel” that is a left over from the colonial era. It’s crazy how you imagine the high society of that time. At that time, the sea was right in front of the hotel, today there are large modern buildings in front of it, which stand on the artificially reclaimed land. The beautiful view is gone, and one is thinking of tearing down the hotel, which is almost a tradition, and one of the most expensive ones, and putting a huge shopping center on this prime real estate. It would be a pity.
Monday July 4th, 1988
So now I try it with present tense! In the morning, we get up at 10am + go shopping. I bought 3 T-shirts for about 10 each, not bad. I also found a useful watch. Shopping frenzy, consumption! We postpone meeting dad, we will meet him at 2:30. We marched around, grab a bite + watch the action. Around 8pm we try to buy a camera, Minolta 7000, lens 35-105. In the many small photo booths, the prices are very different. The price of the camera between 4900 HKD and 4100 HKD. The expensive ones can be bargained down, the cheap ones add up to the batteries and case. The final prices vary between 4600 HKD and 4400 HKD. Since dad only wants to spend 4300, we run from store to store, here many shops are open until 11pm.
Finally at 8.30 we bought one for 4400, lens cover + lanyard is not „unnecessary“! I then bought the lens protection myself. Eric was already expecting us for dinner, this time Dad invited us (out of necessity). I didn’t notice it, but Dad skilfully avoids all expensive things, embarrassing. But it tastes great, it’s just not as extensive as yesterday.
When it became clear that my birthday will be on Saturday, Eric’s wife presents me with a bracelet without further ado. I’m very happy about it, but I’m amazed. We end the day with a long shower.
Tuesday July 7th, 1988
We get up at 8am, yes, it’s amazing, I am up at 8am too. We meet up with dad to try out the new camera until his departure. We take a few photos until Dad decides to buy the newer version Minolta, „four times faster“. So we get into an argument again. Dad leaves about 10am + we go shopping cheap stuff. Wieland enthusiastically buys a midriff, it looks too wonderful. We find a super beige denim jacket for 25.-. The 3 t-shirts from yesterday have now become more. We pack the stuff + bring the 3-4 kg package to the Wongs. Dad will be: ‚happy‘ about the package, he must take it home.
At 8pm we go to the roof of the hotel complex. A dizzying height, and I don’t have a head for heights…, but it’s great to observe Natan Rd. from this height, to gaze at the huge neon signs and crowds. I just dared to look over the edge, on my stomach of course, I crawled to the edge because I had vertigo the whole time. The rest of the view is better + more impressive than from the peak, (I leave present tense). Suddenly 2 Danes were standing behind us with beer and music, „gonna have a house party“, we drank and said the roof is unique.
At yesterday’s meal we ate abalone, scallops, shark’s fin, among other things… By the way, our elevator has a bad smell, the fan only mixes up the various smells, it also only holds about 8 people, and when it’s heavy, it starts to hum. When we went up with Freddy + dad, the elevator hardly wanted to start, at dad’s slightest movement it started to hum, divine. Freddy laughed and patted dad’s stomach.
Thursday July 7th, 1988
CHENGDU, 17:12 Rain
It’s best to start on Wednesday morning. After packing and clearing everything up we went to Time Travel Block A 16th to collect our visa + plane tickets. Of course, nothing was ready yet. We were put off to 2pm so we went to the Star Ferry to get to the Island. There, Wieland filmed fish hearts twitching in the markets and sea snakes slit open. We had our lunch on a small street. The hunchbacked Chinese trotted around us happily and tried to sell us everything possible. We ate squid + Wieland slurped some fish head soup afterwards. At first, we weren’t sure, but once Wieland had it’s eye on the chopstick there was no longer any doubt.
To kill the rest of the spare time we strolled through the New World Center on the Kowloon side because of the coolness there. I knew it, after a while I was in the shoe shop + had bought the super shoes for 40.00. The same are now in my backpack on the way through Tibet. Well, when we had done everything and the girl from Time Travel had wished us “a good trip” for the 1000th time, she seemed to have taken a shine to us, we went to the airport.
Our plane left at 5.30pm. Even before that, we noticed two who were super nervously skipping up and down. On the plane, it was an older, narrower plane with an ugly crew, to put us in a good mood, we were given a fan and a little red bag, wonderful! Only, after we saw the food, were we strongly reminded that we were going to a communist country.
Our neighbour Benny looked into all the pots + wrinkled his nose in disgust. Understandable when you look at the whole thing, rice with, I think meat, a strangely slimy sealed sauce that tasted like pickled cucumbers, dry fish, meat, + shrimp, very likely the dried kind, which are soaked in water, they looked quite unappetizing + chocolate that tasted like in Hungary. All in all it couldn’t be called excellent. Benny said he would fly with this flight almost every 2nd week, „But I can’t get used of this stuff!“ We talked to him a bit, he’s really nice. He also said he dressed badly to fit in. When the drinks came, which I was immediately suspicious of, Benny first tried the orange juice, ‚Instant‘, swapped it for Coke, sniffed that and finally settled on tea.
The airport in Chengdu is heavily guarded, important uniforms are everywhere, in a variety of colours. There your „health“ is checked first, another European was immediately taken to quarantine, then the passport was checked very officially, with a facial check, so that Wieland almost didn’t get through, carefully looking at his passport photo. Benny explained everything to us and always said to Wieland, „just keep cool“. Our luggage was screened with „an imported machine from the U.S.A., really filmsafe“. Very important! While we were still busy with the luggage, Benny was already negotiating the price for a taxi, because he lives in the hotel next to ours. As we were standing in front of the taxi, the French suddenly came running to ask us our way. They also wanted to go to the Ging Ging Hotel. However, our taxi was already full. The route to our hotel was hilarious, Benny was joking all the time, the driver was driving… but it was lovely. Here you just indicate wildly, a system was not recognizable, parking light, high beam, normal high beam… but important.
We said goodbye to Benny and entered our hotel. It doesn’t look very cheap, by the way. Well, our French were already there. We have a triple room 660 for 25Y each. Together approx. 25,- . As soon as we sat down, our roommate came in. „Hello“! Since we didn’t have a key, we asked him. „I don’t know, nobody knows. The key is lost, I’ve dropped it into the toilette. But nobody knows. Perhaps the key isn’t lost.“
So this American is not trustworthy. When he heard that we wanted to go to Lhasa, he said „that’s impossible, it’s really impossible, but you will see – yes, I think you will see!“
That was awesome. He told us that there was a lady here before us who lived here for 2 years, speaks fluent Chinese + knows all sources, but she still didn’t get a ticket to Lhasa. She has now gone on a package tour. You don’t get something like that for less than 2000Y approx. 1000.-. Well done. That was a low point. With this information we went to the French. These have the advantage that Valery speaks Chinese because she studied in Shanghai for a year. But you could tell that the two wanted to try it on their own, so we left again.
Friday July 8th, 1988
A little late, now follows the Thursday account. We were a bit discouraged, but we still made our way to the CAAC „no tickets, you have to go to the GingGing Hotel“ There CITS „no tickets for individuals, you have to take a group“ in all other agencies that was it same. Whoever we talked to „impossible to get there now, two weeks before it was possible, but also difficult“.
In the hotel, Wieland just wanted to ask our American something and by chance made an interesting connection. Two Americans got a ticket to Lhasa through China Youth Travel (CYTS), the only problem they had was getting a ticket back. That brightened our mood.
An offshoot even exists in our hotel 252, but almost nobody knows about it. As I found out in the evening, the hotel doesn’t know anything either, at least not that tickets are sold to individuals there. Our flight is disguised as a tour. We get our number and we are our own group. So, we marched to 252 and asked, and they immediately said yes, but not until Tuesday. Well bravo, a ray of hope, but it seems so easy, we were a bit suspicious, so we made our way to the main office. DUOZIXIANG No. 22 Tel. 61012. On the way there, the Chinese rushed us to „change money“. So we exchanged our remaining Hong Kong dollars.
We ate our lunch at a small restaurant that smelled good. In the middle was a large, divided iron pot, in which paprika was busy simmering. Then there were strange things, probably intestines, but they tasted quite good when cooked. It was just damn spicy. From there we were now looking for CYTS, hidden, secret, but we found it by accident because Wieland recognized the symbol for China. There they sent us back to the hotel.
In between we grabbed a watermelon, but Wieland burst it right away. Well, we bought a safety lock in a department store, it’s very small, but extremely heavy but safety.
On our way, two more Chinese came and wanted to explain the way to us in broken English, but we didn’t understand what they were saying. The two, about 15, did not come from here. Immediately a crowd of Chinese had formed around us, since we gesticulated wildly with maps and hand symbols. It’s all very chaotic here. Walking down the street, one encounters swarms of cyclists ringing their bells (very important). They always drive in herds. If you wait for a gap, you can wait forever because the swarms seem endless. You just have to throw yourself into the wild tinkling like a kamikaze. But it works, somehow. On the street you just have to start walking, they will stop. Wherever you go, Chinese rush around and no one knows why or where to.
When we got to the hotel, we received confirmation of our tickets. Well, we didn’t make it too easy for the Frenchmen. They had already given up + wanted to fly back on the 8th. We then told them of this secret service like this, „Not sure, mysterious..“ They suddenly became damn friendly, invited us to a gin and tonic and were talkative.
In the evening, we went to the disco in the hotel. First of all, there are two of them, one is for the Chinese, that is the better one + we were allowed to go to the other one too. The music was terrible, disco. There we met Gian from C.Y.T.S. the translator. He’s totally nice. Well, we gave him one of my tapes to give to the DJ. to cheer. He did too. Since I had randomly mixed the cassette together at home, the whole disco heard “Die Hexe Schrumpeldei”, wonderful. We had a long chat with Gian, he speaks brilliant English. He taught himself to do it here, remarkable.
At 9am this morning we were at the C.Y.T.S. because of our tickets. The two French were there too. Valery panicked, I think she would have arranged everything for us. She spread nothing but chaos. The whole thing is uncomfortable for her and she keeps saying that she’s being ripped off. With our student cards we already had that behind us. In any case, we now have the tickets in hand. Propeller plane or World War II copy, the first obstacle is over. A very small one, but still. Around noon Benny came over, he’s hilarious and just complains about the Chinese.
Well, when a Marketing & Sales Manager from the Bond Center shows up with a shirt and pants, jeans and sneakers. Shortly thereafter, the two ‚Americans‘ came, i.e. one is English and the other Iranian-German, of which you don’t see anything, but lives in London. There was a meeting at 5pm for our Tibet trip. In front of us sat a Tibetan from the local CYTS and next to us a Chinese who translated. So we are picked up at the airport by a guide who carries a thick, important sign with the name and „group number“. Otherwise, we will be picked up at the airport and have to go back immediately. But they’re all kind of nice here.
Saturday July 9th, 1988
When we wanted to go to the disco it was suddenly 20 FEC + you had to drink something. Well well. Gian is really very nice. I imagine it’s very hard for him to be in touch with so many Travelers, knowing he’ll probably never get out of here. I gave him a cassette of mine, he was super happy. When you come into contact with such people, you first notice how good you actually have it, but Gian is satisfied, he knows people from all over the world and can therefore speak English very well. He may be able to study in Sydney and has a much better job than many others.
At 9:30 p.m. in our room, I suddenly remembered that it was my birthday. So we made a party with balloons, confetti, magic fire, small packages and Arne’s raspberries from the survival pack with ½ l whiskey, hui. It was very funny, once again a somewhat different birthday. I got a talisman and a package for „emergency“ from Heidi. I really appreciate these little things like that, like the surprise for mom’s party. I got a totally sweet card from Simone, with lots of elephants, one of them is pink with a hat „You’ve always been something special, stay like that!“ I can’t even describe how happy I was. On the card were 100 (dollars) exchanged for DM for my pig + a cassette of Benjamin Blümchen „Benjamin gets rich!“ You stupid cow! You can bring much more joy with something like that than with a huge present. My friendship with Simone is something else anyway, I can’t explain it. I just know that besides Wieland and Mama there is always someone who will stand by you when you need it. After our raspberry mix we were doing quite well.
At the market today we ate a soup for 50 fen about 15 pf. not bad and various salads. Wieland had something strange on his plate, unidentifiable, the most disgusting thing I could think of and seemed quite unlikely, it was pork snout and when we then strolled across the market, what did I see?, pig snouts piled on top of each other. I think I only need to name something here, then instantly I’ve got it on my plate or I’ll walk past it. Among other things there were pig feet, salted dogs + cats, tripe, turtles (live), I think leeches and other things… Wieland bought two 100-year-old eggs. I was directly suspicious of these hard things. The egg white is now yellow jelly + the yoke is green-brown on the outside + slimy orange in the middle. I don’t think Wieland will eat a second egg. He said it tasted like it looks, brrrhhhh….
We got to know 2 Germans who have been on the road for 3 weeks. You’ve also experienced a lot, hard-seaters on the train, overcrowded, dirty… „terrible“. They had already given up + were + quite pleased to get the secret tip from us. Later we rocked up with 4 Beer bottles in our cafe, ordered 2 glasses. It’s amazing, with the gin from our Frenchmen it was the same. You just go to a cafe, restaurant and take your own drink. This is common practice here. We meet so many people on a trip like this. Later we have some important addresses. Today we saw a bike, ducks on the back and wheel, alive, just tied by the feet and hanging from it, head up, quacking, but only pathetically.
Sunday July 10th, 1988
On Saturday evening we were still sitting down here + Wieland exchanged card and magic tricks with Gian. Gian was very enthusiastic + Wieland blossomed completely. The Australian didn’t get the simplest tricks. By the way, she didn’t fly to Lhasa today. She was at the airport + suddenly „all the Chinese pushing forwards, shaking“ their tickets, climbing on top of the counters, jumping up and down!“ The flight to Lhasa was cancelled, i.e. it was cancelled on Friday and the Friday passengers took the plane on Saturday. So hopefully it will be our turn tomorrow.
The next day we were already at the taxi at 5.20 am. Valery was so nervous, she didn’t get anything settled. When we arrived there were already a few people at the airport, when it opened, everyone stormed in, threw their bags and rucksacks into the plane and ran hell for leather to the counter. We had a pretty good position, i.e. Valery + Vernon were hanging over the counter. Frustratingly, only people with boarding cards from yesterday were accepted.
So, we waited 1 ½ hours for nothing. The Chinese were wildly waving the tickets + trying to push everything forward. At 7am the counter closed. Valery and friend left. We met 3 fat Berliners who had booked a package tour for 5 days through CITS, 2400 FEC each. Well, the day was lost to them as well. Wieland told the dad that we had gotten our tickets via the black market, very secretly. When the mum noticed: „Eduard, Eduard, did you hear that, they have a much cheaper ticket, Eduard…!“ „Pscht, that’s fine, but a bit illegal, yes, illegal.“ We nearly died laughing, if they only knew. The CAAC now pays us 25 FEC for the night and the bus. Well, all in all it was actually quite funny, plus we heard that C.Y.P.S. no longer sells tickets to Lhasa. CITS has managed it again.
After we had then slurped 2 soups for 1 RUB, a noodle soup + once Chinese tortellini, i.e. a tortellini shell with chopped ‚all sorts‘ inside, not wanting to know what it could be. It definitely tasted good. In the evening we ate crispy pork chops. Think it was pork cartilage baked in batter, mmmm?
On the way back we met someone who had just been in Lhasa for 2 weeks. She absolutely loved it, she got in from ‚Golmund‘ but had to pay 400 FEC to get in and 2060 for the bus + a booked return flight from Lhasa, not much cheaper either. She said that there were many individualists in Lhasa + it would not be a problem at all. Some more chance for our horse-riding.
Since the exchange rate in Lhasa is 1:1.60 and here 1:1.82, Wieland once again carried out a mafia-like barter. All secret, in hidden places + when the Chinese have their money, someone comes on a bicycle and takes it away from them, all very secret. At the moment I’m sitting here again with Ian + Freund + Wieland. Wieland tries to teach Ian some magic tricks, completely nervous + hectic with shouting + wild hand signals. He found his masters here. Tomorrow we’re going back to the airport, 5.30 a.m. by bus + then off into the crowd, well done.
Today I had a long chat with Massoud, the German-Iranian. There is a good art school in London where you first study art for 1 year like in the Bauhaus, everything. After that one of them studied design for 2 years + now industrial design for 2 years + thinks the chances are not bad, there is also a business school there that is very good, 3 years. He wants to look up the addresses + when I’m in London I’ll definitely look him up. If I come alone, I can also stay with him. He has the same problems with his parents, i.e. with maintenance, as we do. He studied math for 3 years, graduated with 1, now works for 1-4 years at Deutsche Bank, 50,000 DM a year, after that he wants to use the money for 2 years to go to a business school in America, after that he expects 100,000 – 150,000 a year, not bad. He’ll make his way. Maybe I’ll get more information on our trip. I have an address in Paris from Valery, from a woman who is always looking for a German au pair + an agency where the mannequins are dressed + decked out, but only seasonally but certainly very interesting. Well, the main thing is the address.
Monday July 11th, 1988
LHASA 5:29
Well, with a bit of luck we’ve actually made it this far. The weather is more pleasant. It rained all the time in Chengdu, the sun is shining here with some showers expected.
This morning, the procedure at the airport was repeated, annoying. However, the flight was great, i.e. only the view, the food + drink even worse than before.
Looking at the Himalayas from the plane is a dream, the high mountains with their white snow peaks, then green valleys covered by clouds, large sand dunes, just crazy. We arrived at 9.45 a.m., we noticed immediately that the air is much thinner, after all Lhasa is 4000 m high. It will be difficult to breathe. Our guide was nowhere to be seen, so we immediately sneaked to the CAAC bus, which was supposed to take us 1 ½ hours over 96 km to Lhasa.
Wieland: I only saw the guide driving past us later, he was holding a huge sign to the window with our names on it. Since I didn’t want to pay him at all, I didn’t react and pretended to not see him all the way to Lhasa.
We were really annoyed by the constantly phlem-spitting Chinese. In front of us, on the plane, the guy spat so much that I was expecting him to slip when he got up. The woman on the bus always just missed my shoe, great. The bus ride was great despite the shaking + rattling.
We get a little glimpse of the country. Rocks, painted Buddhas carved into the rock, donkeys loaded with wood, small horse-drawn carts, flocks of goats and sheep. Monks, houses with prayer flags on the roof, fur boats, corn fields + above all lots of potholes. It’s true, there’s something fascinating about the country + and I think we’ll enjoy ourselves here for quite some time.
Arrived in LHASA, we first took care of the hotel. The cheapest around 15 RUB are run by Tibetans + have no comfort, but for 4 DM you can’t ask for that much. We saw the Snowland Hotel, Jak Hotel + Bana Shol Hotel. We liked the latter the best, plus there are showers. We walked through the small streets. I like it much better here than in Chengdu, although you can really feel the Chinese influence on the larger streets. Cute, sniffing dogs run around everywhere in the small streets, there are cows, goats and donkeys. If you grin at the Tibetans, they laugh back in a friendly way. Little dirty rascals are standing around everywhere, the children are running after us and a little girl was very happy that I gave her my empty Coke can, which she used for a flower that she had just found. Real Tibetans look amazing. Most of the time they have braided red ribbons in their hair, are tanned, have gold teeth + a cape, and of course the prayer beads should not be missing.
The people here are fascinating, each one an original in their own right, with tanned faces shaped by wind and weather, in their huge chubas and are always friendly. (a Chuba is a long sheepskin coat made of thick Tibetian wool worn by many of the nomadic peoples of High altitudes in the cold mountains of Tibet) The air still bothers me a bit here, headache, shortness of breath and difficulty sleeping.
Walking around here is very strenuous due to the thin air + we’re exhausted, plus we didn’t sleep very long. Two African Americans from Savannah have arrived in our dormitory again, they seem to be quite nice, they want to go to Katmandu – Calcutta – Indonesia. At the moment, apparently, the road to Kathmandu is completely open + no travel permit is required. Will things work out with the horses? They drink loads of tea here, as if it was a world competition. I think you can do the best tea treatment here.
Because of the altitude of about 3,600 m you should drink at least 3 liters of water a day, that’s quite a lot, but at the moment I’m hellishly thirsty, one cup of tea after the other. The toilets don’t flush, so I have to throw the paper in a basket + drag water from a huge vat into the toilet with a watering can to flush it.
Wieland is a bit grumpy because he thinks he has to organize everything himself. Well, he’s not that wrong, he just has a better idea because he did something similar with Papa. He’s read a lot, he’s always very quick and assertive, so then I just don’t say anything more. From outside, Tibetan yodeling music and babble echoes through the window. It’s better here than the Holiday Inn.
Tuesday July 12th, 1988
The altitude makes us beat up and tired. We went to the market, there were yaks to buy there, I don’t think the Tibetans eat as much as the Chinese. The Tibetans are very pretty when they have the red woollen threads wrapped around their heads and the Tibetan cloak looks great. We are swarmed by Tibetan women covered in colourful beads who want to sell you something. They refused us to take photos. It looks awesome, all turquoise braided in the hair and hung with corals. We did get a few photos anyway.
Totally cute, one had her baby on her back. We saw a wonderful guy, a very old one, with a dried-up brown face, wearing a kind of welding goggles on his nose, and one of them had really long buck teeth. The small children are annoying, they come „hello“ and beg for money, they are often not older than 4 years „I have no father and no mother, give me money“ they cling to your leg and won’t let you go. You have no choice but to give the rascals some money.
The pilgrim circle that goes around the Jokhang Temple, called Bakhor, there the Buddhists keep throwing themselves on their pillows and slide back, one after the other throws drops into prayer. The temple is the most important and magnificent sanctuary within Lhasa.
Lhasa POTALA PALACE
In the pouring rain we marched to the Potala. We were really wet after we climbed the steps. We are kindly asked to go inside the temple. Phew, the many steps take your breath away, but it’s worth it. We walk through the huge rooms and marvel, it’s a bit cheesy, but in the dim light, the smell of incense and the monks singing is impressive. There is a mysterious atmosphere there. This is the residence of the Dalai Lama. The walls are artistically painted, Tibetan writing – prayer scrolls hang down everywhere. The light is dim, small containers filled with yak butter are burning everywhere. Many pray and often a kind person comes along.
In the walls are small chambers where Buddha images are seated, to which offerings are brought about 250 statues, most of which are set with precious stones, ornate, statues, flowers, veils Thangkas, the golden prayer drums, each containing a prayer, rotate constantly , as the Tibetans touch them in passing.
When we looked at the rooms, the reception hall, a bedroom, a room for religious files and the secretary’s room, helpful monks were always present to explain everything to us. In return, we helped them explain English words. It’s insane how much the monks worship the Dalai Lama.
All this is only disturbed by the many tourists. We sat down at the entrance and watched the package tours making the dangerous, long, steep climb to the bus. Old, fat, stupid, real tourists, with rain capes, cameras dangling in front of their stomachs + a stupid facial expression, just those who spend 7000.- for 3 weeks, or 2000.- for 3 weeks, or 2000.- around the Potala to look at Divine, everyone snapped like crazy, but there was nothing great to see.
We tried it.
Of course, if I had paid 200 to be able to snap pictures in the Potala, I would also snap everything that gets in front of the lens. While we were sitting there and not suspecting anything bad, we were suddenly surrounded by a package tour because everyone thought there was something to see. However, they soon dissipated after we put our lenses in their faces. The worst was a fat grandpa with his movie camera. With one eye he looked into the camera, with the other he squinted and swung his arms conspicuously up and down. While this grandpa was standing right next to us, Wieland said: „Did you see grumps kneeling, did you see it, hilarious, it’s a pity I don’t have my camera with me. The fat one is so hilarious.” Grandpa went, we followed. When Grandpa started filming again, Wieland tried to catch him from the side + zoomed in on 50cm with the lens. Grandpa very nervous: „I’m about to flip out.“ A German package tour group. Grandpa gone, we’ll follow. As soon as he unpacked the camera, Wieland pointed the lens. Suddenly another fatty waddled over and said: „That’s enough!“ Grabbed the lens in front of Wieland. „I want to film the whole time + always have you on it.
I’ve been filming you all the time, I’m filming for ZDF, for an example for absolutely stupid, embarrassing Germans.” Well, Grandpa didn’t say that for nothing, we were already sitting on the wall. If one of the idiots wanted to film the Potala, which they intended, we were part of it. So who is stupid here and pays 3000.- to see Lhasa, who is embarrassing when he can hardly get down the stairs, bloated and with the video camera? They waited a while longer, hoping we’d disappear, then slowly, one by one, the group broke up with angry looks and swear words and swarmed towards the waiting bus.
Wieland is grumpy all the time because nothing goes as he wants. Basically, I do everything wrong, my ideas are all wrong + then it means I don’t care. I just don’t know why he is banging his head against the wall for. We need to speak to someone local who has more knowledge.
Wednesday July 13th, 1988
We learned something new from an Australian. He hitchhiked from Lhasa to Kaxgar last year. He thinks it was difficult last year, this year would certainly be even more difficult. If we do the tour Lhasa, Xigazê, Lhazê (by bus, hitchhiking from Lhazê), Coqên – Grêrzê – Rutog is still not a big problem, only getting to Kaxgar from there would be difficult. One would have to calculate from 10 days to 1 ½ months. However, we only have 2 months until Kaxgar.
We also asked him about trekking, and he said the Nam Co Lake north of Lhasa is very beautiful. There is the pastureland of the nomads + there are very many beautiful birds. To get there, one must climb a 5000m pass and be acclimated to the altitude here in Lhasa (4200m) for at least 14 days.
So we could start from Damxung on Wednesday, Thursday at the earliest. The question remains whether we will have enough time to get to Kaxgar afterwards. A horse costs around 1000 RMB. We thought about it for a long time. Trying trekking west of Lhasa will be difficult, also because of the weather.
It rained continuously from yesterday evening until noon today. So either horse, or right across Tibet. We have decided to try it on horseback, either north-east from there towards Golmund, or, which will be much more difficult, west towards Coqên or Gêrzê and from there hitchhike up to Kaxgar. It’s just going to be a little tight in terms of time. We haven’t fixed anything yet.
Thursday July 14th, 1988
We also made our way down and we were already swarmed by pearl decorated Tibetan women who wanted to sell us something. However, they refused photos. It looks crazy when they have braided turquoise in their hair and are hung with corals.
This morning we each ate some sort of flatbread 5Pf. + for lunch we were in a Tibetan restaurant and ate noodles with meat (lamian) and a sweet tea with milk (possibly lotus seed tea with rock crystal sugar). It didn’t taste that great, but we were full with 30 fen approx. 10 pg.
We saw the 1st saddled horse, saddled with colourful blankets and bridles. In the afternoon when the rain stopped we rented 2 bikes. We were warned about the traffic chaos. Bang, some bike crashes into you from behind and you lie on the street, then has the cheek to says afterwards that the cars are very dangerous. A tractor suddenly hits a bus, 2 cyclists snip you from the side and suddenly one comes towards you amidst the whole chaos…..We cycled to the east. Tractor carts overflowing with Tibetans.
We drive to Yarmalinka Island on the Lhasa River. A bridge hung all over with prayer flags leads to this island, opposite Chaypori. Since the weather seemed to be better, we went to Chagpori. This was a sacred mountain on which the Chinese have now placed a radio mast. At the foot of the mountain there is a small monastery with monks who are still “properly” dressed. On a rock wall in front of the temple there are many yak heads or horns + tablets with inscriptions. They are probably places of sacrifice, because a yak’s head burned. The walls are painted with colourful Buddhas. Small bronze Buddhas and burning vessels lie in small niches. It’s all very mysterious.
This small monastery clung to the rocks seems incredibly mysterious, the windows are hung with yellow and orange fabrics, the rooms are flooded with a soft but luminous light. Four monks, with their heads shaved, continuously say prayers. Butter lamps are everywhere, being refilled by reverent Tibetans.A little further there was a cave carved into the rock, which was almost completely filled by a giant Buddha, in front of him everything is covered with white scarfs, banknotes and coins, and again there are many butter lamps. Pictures of the Dalai Lama hang everywhere.
Towards evening we meet Ken, the African, he dreams of gorging himself on apple pie and pancakes in Kathmandu. Steffen talks about the three different types of tsampa and butter tea. Tsampa comes in solid, liquid and brown as mud, small knobbly, yellow-brown lumps that are threaded. The stuff is so hard that we have to be careful. It tastes awful. In between we ate a yak burger, which bears a certain resemblance to conventional hamburgers. He explained the currency to us, Fen = maotze, Yen =.
When it got dark we wrote funny letters. Armin: Angora rabbit farm, Simone: Buddhism, Christoph: package tour with survival stunts, Dieter: high-rise buildings and hash parties, Kathrin: We, smuggled ourselves in fruit crates, further camouflaged in a flock of sheep. Actually, we should all keep these letters, they’re funny, so it’s a lot more fun than if we all wrote the same thing.
Today it rained cats and dogs all night + we are a bit confused about the trekking, none of us dreams of sleeping in the rain at night.
Friday July 15th, 1988
I have to start with Thursday first. In the morning we were at the Bankhor – Bazar. We feasted on yoghurt and bought chunks of the cheese that Steffen described yesterday. Small knobbly , yellow-brown lumps that are threaded. The stuff is so hard that you can only take it slowly. However, it doesn’t taste very good either. Wieland has a huge problem, rain tent or tarpaulin. My God, you can also create problems if there are none around.
As for the horse idea, we haven’t gotten too much information, but we’re still investigating. Yesterday I woke up with a huge problem, rain. Unexpectedly, it rains a lot. We don’t have a tent! I’m desperate because something like this can’t be found here. Ricarda takes it easy and doesn’t worry about the planning like I do. I ran all over Lhasa to find something for the rain. Then I came up with the idea of buying fabric tarpaulins from the trucks. Finally we found a roll of green fabric in a big department store, we hope it’s waterproof, I tried it with spit. The Chinese seller couldn’t tell us anything about it. The strips were only 90cm wide and we had the brilliant idea of having a tent sewn. I immediately applied my mathematical knowledge to construct a tent
We found a tailor shop, they looked at us with big eyes „is it possible to sew a tent?“ In the tiny shop we tried to explain the tent dimensions to the two girls. It wasn’t easy, but it will work out. This is my idea of the tent: In the evening we stuffed our stomachs for 5 DM each, noodles with meat and a sweet Lothos – seed tea with milk and rock crystal sugar. It didn’t taste great, but we were full.
We sat on the „roadside“ for a while + just people-watching. Women who weave colourful ribbons into their braids + and put them around their heads, sometimes with crazy hairpins that we know from dad. The men also lengthen their jet black hair with red or black ribbons/wool threads. These are also artfully wrapped around the head, sometimes with an ivory ring, pearls or huge silver hairpins that look wonderful.
In the evening we ate in our restaurant. Since I had to eat from a plate with Wieland, we kept tearing it away under each others forks. The elderly who watched us were delighted.
We tried to talk the little rascal to do some mischief. He sat at the table with the Swedes and didn’t want to eat his Yak-burger any more. When he looked away, we hid his burger. At first he was still laughing, then his eyes became more harried + more desperate. When the good piece was in front of him again, the Lama came in and wanted to take a cucumber. The little one only saw the hand approaching from above + grabbed it with lightning speed to prevent worse. We had a blast. The beer you can drink here is a sloppy broth. I went out and sat and just stared at the stars. It was so beautiful I could have stayed there for hours.
There was a new addition to our room, two Hongkongese who didn’t speak English. Slurping, munching, yawning, pilfering electricity from the light fitting with a construction to make the tea, then in the morning at 8am they made a racket for 10, that’s how we were woken up. Suddenly there is no longer a ticket to Damxung, yesterday there were still some if we had taken it. Source dried up – this is China.
We asked about a jeep, which of course is a bit expensive, 300 FRC, I think we’re going go for it. We went to our tent, the tailor didn’t understand everything, so we had to measure and cut the front and back parts ourselves. Nobody would have thought that we would sew a tent or have one sewn in Tibet.
Saturday July 16th, 1988
In the evening, we organised a small currency exchange. 500 dollars against 3050 RUB. My God, we sat on the same level as the Tibetans and counted bundles of money. He gave us everything in 10s and 5s. After that we didn’t even know what to do with all the money. The trouser pockets overflowed + we were surrounded by a pulk mop who stared curiously at our fingers. We were now a veritable treasure trove. The Tibetan only whistled, he had probably made the deal of his life. To us, all faces seemed suddenly darkened and we were waiting to get mugged.
The swap action, we made an appointment with a Tibetan where we sat down on the step in front of a closed shop. His wife and child were sitting next to me, but I still didn’t trust him. I gave him 300 dollars for 1830RUB. Ricarda and I had to count everything. Suddenly we had a huge bunch of people around us that I first had to shoo away. We felt very uneasy. We always counted out 10 bills and let them disappear into any pocket. The Tibetan then drove away, after 20 minutes we paid off the rest, all in 10, 5 and 1 yuan bills. Our hotel was only 50 m away, but we thought we’d get done over there any moment.
We reached our room, where to our annoyance we found the Hongkongese. After we stowed away the big wad of cash, we ate 3 cans of fruit, I had a real craving for fruit. Then the Hongkongers really started to annoy. They spoke louder and louder, sang, belched, just awful. To make matters worse, there was suddenly a third one in the room. Maybe they’ll quiet down or move away when we go to bed, we thought. But nothing, no reaction, the merry yelling + smoking continued until I had enough, bang I switched off the light………dead silence, the third one disappeared, the light went on again, but the voices were much more subdued. We decided to rent a jeep to Nam Cuo Lake. Namcuo Lake is the second largest salt lake in China, 1967 square kilometres, altitude 4718m.
After the meal, yesterday, around 10 pm, we went through the Bankhor Bazar again. Wieland growled at first: „There’s nothing going on there any more!“ He came along anyway, it was ‚uncanny‘ beautiful. The dim light on the streets, dark figures everywhere, Tibetans in their heavy cloaks and hairstyles, often murmuring or singing. Little wrinkled mothers seemed like witches in this atmosphere. Faint light trickles through the small crooked windows. Dogs bark and here and there we hear someone praying. It seems so unreal, like in a dream where we are taken through another world. You yourself are somehow not there at all. It looked like something out of a robber’s movie, where we entered in the midst of a huge den.
We just don’t really believe it. Here we realize that we are really in a completely different world. Some Tibetans greet us friendly and wave us into small alleys. It’s uncanny, like in the Middle Ages. I had the feeling the whole time someone was about to knock you over. C.Y.T.S. had warned us not to go out on the street after 6.30 pm! Have we ever stuck to something like this? As we walked through the gloomy streets, Wieland suddenly stopped in front of a „pub“. I didn’t really want to, but then a little mother waved us in.
We entered a kind of vaulted cellar where strange figures were sitting. Everything looked dusty, like the tavern in the “Spessart” with lots of robbers inside. Except that everyone here drank tea with milk and sugar. Our tea cost 3 Pf across from us sat four burnt, wind-beaten faces, uncanny looking Tibetans. To our right sat the modern type, leather jacket, sunglasses, perm, thick black hair sticking out in all directions, cool manners and a glass of beer instead of tea. „Change money?“ was the first, followed by cool demeanour, hardly worth noting. Wieland unpacked his coin magic tricks at our table. One of the four wasn’t that stupid at all, he had seen through almost everything, despite the dim light + was thievishly happy. The others looked in disbelief, they were fascinated.
On the way back we met the chef from our restaurant. She tried to carry on conversations with her sparse English menu vocabulary, she is incredibly sweet. Our bus ticket is no longer available, i.e. an hour later there was another one, but only for tomorrow, although we were told on Friday that the bus only doesn’t run on Sundays. We are in China, or Tibet, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. We decided to rent a jeep to Nam Cuo Lake. Namcuo Lake is the second largest salt lake in China, 1967 square kilometres, altitude 4718m.
Sunday July 17th, 1988
Bulk purchase for our survival tour. A bag of dried apricots, beans, 2 bags of raisins, orange powder, tea, a chunk of dried yak meat, 8kg of tsampa, candied apricots, 10 bags of instant noodles, 6 rolls of toilet paper, a pot, tea kettle and a small. Canister. Our huge Tschubas are ready + the tent as well. We also bought money-belts with padlocks.
We stayed at the Lhasa Hotel, a blight on the environment. It’s off the beaten track and a hideous giant block of concrete. The shops inside are also ugly and expensive. What we did buy were salty biscuits for the trip. Our mouths watered when we saw sausages lying there, frankfurters!
We tried to persuade the Swede to have a drink with us, then the wimp went to bed and said we would hear from him when he built a Tibetan restaurant on a 5600m high mountain in Sweden. There was something fascinating about him. I think it was his laugh. He could really laugh freely out of himself. It came so casually + he’s generally, oh I don’t know how people rarely are, so casually nice.
In the evening we ate kebabs with the Turks or Muslims from Kaxgar. We downed one skewer after the other. On the way back, Wieland discovered egg extract. He wants to make pancakes with it. egg, milk and orange. It’s going to be a luxury trip. Right now we’re lounging freshly washed, carving yak meat on the beds.
Lying in bed and eagerly await what is to come and it’s off to Nam Cuo Lake.
We rented the jeep, at first it was suddenly 548 yuan, when we said yesterday it was 520 yuan, we gave in after growling, after a long discussion we were allowed to pay in RUB. On Tuesday we start in a Toyota, certainly more comfortable than the bus, but much more expensive.
Monday July 18th, 1988
We packed our things and at 9:50am the Toyota picked us up. It was raining, but the landscape we drove through was beautiful. We also saw horses more often, so that our spirits increased. Suddenly the asphalt road came to an end and a dirt road had begun. We had to drive through streams and after the pass the road was very muddy.
We thought of dad and how great he would think it is here. And then we saw the huge lake lying bright blue in the valley in front of us. It was surrounded by fog, it was overwhelming. We then drove down into the valley, where I looked in vain for the village. The only thing I saw were 5 scattered mud huts, towards which the Toyota suddenly steered. He stopped in front of a hut, talked to the Tibetans and whoops our luggage was outside and the Toyota gone, the only vehicle far and wide disappeared.
„Please Wieland, don’t let it go!“ We were so perplexed that we couldn’t even think. Now we were sitting in the middle of nowhere, where we didn’t want to be, at least not so soon.
Now we were there, far and wide only mountains and meadows on which herds of yaks grazed. The tiny mud hut that was as small as Ricarda’s room at home. There was a tiny stove in the middle, cauldrons and pots black with soot.
We were escorted into the hut, where we were received by an old, grey-haired, black-burned, unwashed woman wrapped in fur. One is reminded of Fred Flintstone. In a corner lies a baby wrapped in fur. In the centre is a kind of stove that is fired with yak dung. The praying old woman is squatting in the middle + is happy about a Dalai Lama picture that we give her. Various pots, boxes and other equipment hang on the walls, all in gray and brown. Beside me, a spindle and other objects are scattered on the floor, and everyone was spitting on the floor. And already we had to try salted butter tea. The stuff tasted so disgusting it made me vomit. We have to get through that now, they say that you can get used to a lot of things, it will be difficult for me. There’s just nothing here but pastureland, Tibetans who don’t understand us and we don’t understand them. In front of me is the disgusting butter tea.
I’m feeling like shit right now, really shit. Everything pisses me off. My backpack is soaking wet because the water bottle leaked, it’s wet and cold outside, I feel like shit. A real low blow. Wieland tried to talk to a Tibetan who owns horses. He would do the tour around the lake with us in 14 days, after half an hour he had changed his mind and shook his head.
So we were really depressed, back to Damxung, two days walking.
Bravo, now we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. We have to go back to Damxung, you only have to ask how?????
Tomorrow we will climb the pass on foot, 2 horses will carry our luggage, 40 km, great. Since the Tibetan knows that he’s the only way to get away from here, he’ll charge us for 200 straight away. What a shitbird. Well, I’m looking forward to tomorrow!!!!! I ate a chunk of tsampa with yak butter for lunch today. The old woman is making yarn out of sheep’s wool, and the baby is bawling next to me without even giving the impression that it’s going to stop any time soon. Then the mother comes in a fur chuba to suckle it. It has become freezing cold. It’s cloudy and windy outside.
In the evening the sun came out, in the west a huge rain cloud and at the same time sunlit snow mountains in the east, blue sky in the north.
The landscape is crazy, partly it looks like it was painted. The turquoise-blue lake shines in the background. At the moment I don’t feel like doing anything when I think about yesterday, but it would certainly be nice to trek around the lake.
Tuesday July 19th, 1988
NAMZOQ 1:59h
Der Schock war förmlich enorm. Man hatte uns etwas von einem Dorf erzählt. Noch waren wir am überlegen, uns wirklich schon so viel Essen zu beschaffen, na, wir haben gut daran getan. Ich bin immer noch benommen.
Wir fuhren also mit dem gemieteten Landrover von 5200m Paß herunter. Vor uns lag weites Weideland und ein See von enormer Größe. Der Anblick war unglaublich schön. Ab und zu flitzten kleine Wuslons, Meerschweinchen-artige Wuscheltierchen über den Weg. Wir waren frohen Mutes, guckten neugierig in der Landschaft herum, gepannt auf das nahende Dorf. Der Fahrer hatte uns auch etwas von einem Hotel erzählt, was mir jedoch direkt suspekt erschien.
Wir waren recht erstaunt, als sich der Landrover direkt auf 6 kleine Lehmhütten zubewegte. Unsere Mienen veränderten sich gewaltig. Mein erster Ausspruch war: „Bitte Wieland, laß es das nicht sein!“ Aber ansonsten war weit und breit nichts zu entdecken, als unser Fahrer auch schon vor den Hütten anhielt, ausstieg + uns die Türen öffnete. So hatte ich mir das allerdings nicht vorgestellt. 6 winzige Lehmhütten, von der Größe meines Zimmers zu Hause, mitten im Weideland und ringsherum nichts als ein paar grasende Jaks. Die Rucksäcke wurden abgeladen, unser Fahrer deutete auf eine Hütte + meinte „Hotel“ dann sagte er „Good by“ und das einzige Gefährt weit + breit verschwand aus unserer Sicht.
Nun standen wir da vor unserem Gepäck, eine Frau + drei Kinder, die uns nicht verstanden. Und schon mussten wir gesalzenen Buttertee probieren. Das Zeug schmeckte dermaßen ekelhaft, dass es mir hochkam. Da müssen wir nun durch, man sagt, dass man sich an vieles gewöhnen kann, wird mir schwerfallen. Hier ist einfach nichts als Weideland, Tibeter, die uns nicht verstehen und wir sie nicht. Vor mir steht der ekelhafte Buttertee. Na, was das wohl werden wird! Man kann sich an vieles gewöhnen, obwohl mir das Schwerfallen wird. Also das war jetzt schon ein Hammer. So ist es Wieland noch nicht mal im Dschungel ergangen.
Im Moment geht es mir total beschissen, so richtig beschissen. Alles kotzt mich an. Es ist falsch, sich fertig zu machen, im Endeffekt ist doch gar nichts Schlimmes passiert, wir müssen nur zurück und das ganze nochmal, wenn überhaupt von vorne angehen. Im Moment regt mich halt nur alles auf. Der kleine Kackvogel zeigt mir dauernd sein Pimmelchen. Am Anfang war es ja lustig, aber irgendwann nervt es.
Im Moment geht es mir nicht so prächtig. Mal sehen, wie es morgen aussieht. Der kleine Kackvogel schmatzt, was das Zeug hält, grapscht mit seinen Fettfingern dran + hat meine Unterlagen so verdreckst, dass sie aussieht, als wäre sie schon 3 Jahre alt. Jetzt ist er kurz davor unsere Bücher zu zerrupfen, ich könnte draufschlagen.
Wir wurden in die Hütte geleitet, in der uns eine alte, grauhaarige, schwarz verbrannte in Fell gewickelte, ungewaschene Frau empfing. Man wird an Fred Feuerstein erinnert. In einer Ecke liegt ein in Fell eingewickeltes Baby. In der Mitte steht eine Art von Ofen, der mit Yakmist zum Brennen gebracht wird. Auf dem Boden liegen Felle, Töpfe + das Gepäck wird am Rande gestapelt. Mittendrin hockt die betende Alte + freut sich über ein Dalai-Lama Picture das wir ihr schenken. An den Wänden hängen diverse Töpfe, Kisten und andere Geräte, alles in grau und braun. Neben mir liegt eine Spindel und andere Gegenstände verstreut auf dem Boden, und alle rotzten auf dem Boden.
Wednesday July 20th, 1988
We didn’t sleep well, but at least we slept a little. Today is the most beautiful weather. We leave at 10am to walk to Namcuo Lake. It is the 2nd largest salt lake of China, Tibet and is 4700m high. It didn’t look that far, but it was 2 hours, just before we got there the Tibetan caught up with us with the horses. At first we didn’t want to go at all, but we did it anyway, although we found the Tibetan totally unfriendly.
The horses were loaded with our expedition gear and off we went on foot. One horse totally freaked out when it saw or smelled us and threw off all the luggage. We walked another 2 hours and ended up with the total nomads with yak herd and yak hair tent. Our guide is the boss here. People are very photogenic. I just fixed someone’s glasses. One of them is addicted to snuff, he can inhale it through his nose and exhale it through his mouth.
We had to mix our first tsampa ourselves. A big mess, everything sticks to your fingers and trousers, flour, butter and tea. The whole family laughed their heads off about us, but in the end it didn’t taste that bad. My coin tricks are always well received, a few get found out, but that doesn’t matter. Because of all the unfamiliar walking, I now feel my legs.
The lake was further away than we thought, we walked through swamp, through bumpy terrain, our shoes looked accordingly. The original shoe shape was no longer distinguishable from a white and red lump of mud.
The guy from yesterday followed us and the three of us sat in the wet and tried to cook a meal with dried yak poo, a pot and noodles, we were starving by now. Since everything was damp, the dream of the big fire soon disappeared. We decided to walk back to the hut. We were overcome by the feeling of failure! We, with the huge equipment, rucksacks full of food, tent, chubas and tarpaulin, hadn’t accomplished anything so far. We saw ourselves sitting in Lhasa again with the other travellers.
Back to the hut, 2 packed horses, the broody nomad guy in front. The whole family welcomed us, mother + 6 children, of whom he is very proud. A cozy fire burned in the middle of the tent, on which the butter tea is placed. The oldest, probably also the prettiest, snapped at me at first, maybe she was jealous of my blond braid? We got along well with the children, but it also worked better and better with the adults.
First we have to get into the mentality of these people. The longer and more often we are with these people, the friendlier and more understanding they become. Tomorrow it’s 35 km to Damxung, where we’ll double down really hard on getting hold of some four-legged friends.
Thursday July 21st, 1988
I think I HAVE LICE!!!
Everybody is sitting here delousing each other. My head itches all the time and I just fished one out of my hair. I think I freak out when I actually have some. It may sound a bit silly, but when I imagine that my head has been itching and crawling for 2 months and that I might have to cut my hair…..Wieland is already totally cross.
I’ll tell you from the beginning: This morning I woke up to the sound of singing and pounding butter. I felt sick, it was almost dark outside and it was really cold, if I hadn’t gone out I would have thrown up on my sleeping bag. That night I couldn’t sleep properly again. We’ll stay here, tomorrow we’ll continue to Danxuang. Today, when I am feeling lousy, I am getting some doubts. I feel so nauseous when I have to eat or drink any of that greasy stuff… My head is super hot, fever, I’m sick, I have lice, it’s cold, I just want to scream!
All day I sit in the tent, time doesn’t pass + I feel miserable. In my current state, I definitely can’t walk 40 km. I’m now wondering if I haven’t planned on doing a bit too much. The shit is that I’m totally destroying Wieland’s dream. I just don’t trust myself to do it all. It’s not easy for me to suddenly come to terms with having lice. Now Wieland has pumped me full of fever tablets and aspirin and I’m feeling better.
Everything is very different here, the little one poops in the tent + when he screams, his sister sucks his little willy. Speaking of willys, the little shitbird from Kampa always wanted to hop on me on Tuesday evening holding his willy. Luckily Wieland intervened and was able to stall him until his parents came back. The little one seems to have watched his parents a little too often.
In the evening I joined the girls and rounded up goats + sheep, they showed me a kind of grass that you can chew. They also kept wanting to know if I was having a baby and unwrapped their breasts. I still have to get used to a few things here. Everything was easier in Banak Shol. There was always clean, hot water available, you could socialize, you could also lie down really comfortably in bed.
Well, after 2 days I’m longing for a bed without lice, what a cheery outlook, I’m probably not the born survival type, well everyone can be wrong. I’m just afraid that Wieland will be disappointed in me.
The landscape is fantastically beautiful, the sun is shining at the moment. I have experienced that everything is wet + it rains in the tent, but it was warm there. You could jump around in your underpants in the rain, which probably means certain doom here. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
Friday July 22nd, 1988
We wanted to go back to Damxung, the guy wanted far too much for the night and food, I gave him 100 because otherwise he wanted to throw us out of the tent. After some back and forth we went up to the Par Ga Pass at 5200 m. The horses carried our luggage. Ricarda wasn’t feeling well, but she put up a good fight.
The way up to the pass was torture for me, I could hardly breathe + I also had dizziness. Often enough I had to retire, I thought I was about to die.
After 6½ hours we came into the valley, where it was still 10 km to Damxung. The Tibetan, he is 59 years old, wanted to drop us off right there and then and claimed it was Damxung. I could at least persuade him to go a few meters further to the next cluster of houses. I made a huge fuss, but he didn’t want to go any further, so I only gave him 80 instead of 100. He grumbled but then rode back as quickly as possible and we were back in the middle of nowhere.
Well bravo, back in the pampa. At the moment we are sitting on a kind of village square surrounded by women, old people and children, not exactly Miss World. Immediately they sit on my lap because they want pictures of the Dalai Lama. What a laugh. Nobody understands that we want to buy horses, not rent them, BUY them. They stand around and stare at us and eat carrots, they don’t even want to bring a carrot for us for a picture. I’ve cracked it, they get to look at my book in exchange for a carrot. In front of me someone is drumming around with a Chinese Pullmoll box, converted, very proud, but totally embarrassing.
We are 15km away from Damxung because the old fart dropped us off here. Next to me sits an aspiring fag, wrapped up in a pink suit with lurex threads in it + a little bow at the neck. I laughed myself to death with Wieland „Should I conjure a coin out of the old man’s ear?“ „He won’t wash himself for three years + look for coins behind his ear every day“. situation comedy.
After all, this seems to be a real village. The shock isn’t quite as big as it was on Tuesday. With the tractor it costs 60 here to Damxuang. Wieland asks if that is 60 Maotze? Then the guy left offended. Suddenly there are radishes for free, something is wrong there, normally you have to pay for everything and anything here. For the 6 received radishes there was a headache tablet, we didn’t want to be given anything. The radishes tasted crazy. Behind every friendliness there is some impertinence.
Yesterday we watched the goats being milked. The goats are simply tied together like a zipper, maybe I should better use the word „tied“. One head from the right, one from the left. I slept wonderfully because I used Wieland’s sleeping bag. And I choked down some of that disgusting tsampa.
Well, there was wild lightning outside, we’re sitting in a native hut again, Kampa. When we were out on the village square, a rain front approached + suddenly we were sitting alone in the amidst our luggage. All our chances of getting away from here, let alone having a roof over our heads that would protect us from possible thunderstorms better than our tent without poles, seemed to have been wasted. Somehow, we didn’t really care any more. Then someone came and said they would take us away on horseback tomorrow for 20, but we would have to stay the night with them. Since the storm was threateningly approaching, we struck a deal.
However, this Kampa is already real luxury, twice as big as the hut on Tuesday, with real cupboards + gas lamp on the ceiling. Feudal, feudal. But butter tea is also available here. We cooked delicious noodles. The mom came and lured me out. Follow her, I thought to myself. So I trudged with her up a hill to a tent. It was already dawn + everything was so spooky, like the witch from Hansel and Gretel. She lured me inside, there I had to sit down. I thought you’d get knocked over in a minute + Wieland will never find you again. But instead of striking me down, she offered me yak yoghurt, which I brought back for Wieland. Now we sit here with super full stomachs and write our memoirs.
Monday July 25th, 1988
Oh, oh, need to go back a bit.
So let’s continue with Friday evening. Since we were very tired, we soon fell onto the stone beds. Wieland fell asleep right away, but I was still being bothered a lot. I was constantly being shaken by one of the two brothers + of course they always only wanted to join me in my sleeping bag. Well bravo, the Tibetans are a little too horny.
It rained all night again. When we got up in the morning we considered canceling the tour due to bad weather. It had snowed up to 4700 m. Half the equipment we sold for 30. It really hurt to loose the aquipment, which was complete and we were so proud of, and had to give it away. Wieland was distraught because his big dream was shattered, I was distraught because it was my idea and now I was the culprit.
Because of the rain, the family didn’t want to strain their horse and foal and said they had gotten us a car. We then went out into the rain + waited ½ hour near the witches‘ tent. Everything got wetter and wetter + not a car in sight. The Tibetans crouched + grinned + made „vroom-vroom-vroom“. Hilarious how they stood there like the drenched poodles + kept repeating „I’m a stupid ass“. Then the organized vehicle came + it turned out to be the village transport. In Damxung we found a truck that took us for 40, a horrendous price, to Yangbajain, 80 km to the south.
I shaved at the river.
After an hour, a military truck stopped. He picked us up and gave us a lift to shortly before Lhasa. That was really hard on our bums, he went a fair clip with his “convertible”…
Shortly before Lhasa we were standing in the rain again. With a fully packed jeep for 4 (Hong Kong Dollars) we finally arrived in Lhasa. There I tried to get tickets to Shigatse, but they were only available for Tuesday, not Sunday. Another 3 days Lhasa, NO way.
The Yak Hotel for 17 RUB. No comparison to the Banak Shol Hotel. Much larger, 8 bed rooms, dirty showers + not so comfortable. Ate really delicious Kashgar Kebab again. We have heard that there are still seats available on the Katmandu bus which has been postponed for a day. The plague is said to be raging in Kaxgar. Karakorum Highway closed!!!!
Got up at 6 a.m. on Sunday. When the alarm rang, none of us wanted to get up because everything was so uncertain – darkness – an hour’s walk to the bus station with all our luggage, but I managed to overcome it and off we went. It was real agony because I had a second bag with me. After 10 minutes I saw a cycle rickshaw coming towards me on the opposite lane, or rather, I heard the squeaking in the darkness. Ricarda said she owes this luck to her many talismans and then the rickshaw pedalled mightily for payment of 10, and we were quickly at the bus stop. All dark and nothing going on, except for a Chinese soldier who made some fuss around us. We ran to the road to maybe hitchhike from there. The soldier came back and said, „You’ve no ticket?“ At first we felt very uneasy until we realized that he wanted to sell us two tickets. I couldn’t read anything on the ticket and didn’t pay for it until we were practically on the bus. I had to pay a bit more, but that was OK for HK$72 for two people, even though the Chinese price was HK$36.
On the 12-hour drive to Shigatse, I was annoyed that the dream had shattered. At a rest, on the way I was invited by Tibetans to Chana + Tsampa. I also steered dried yak meat and so the five of us sat in the dust and shared everything. I had to choke down the chang and tsampa but being together made up for it.
Our hygiene regime is gone out the window anyway.
The ride was breakneck. Rumspums went up and down. The valley in which Gyantse + Shigatse lies is crazy. Fertile many fields, donkey carts + farmers. Arrived in Shigatse we stayed at the bus station hotel. Terrible, a simple concrete block. The French woman and a German douchebag were then in our room. Wieland totally freaked out. Everything fell apart in Damxung because of me, I’m always unmotivated, I don’t care. It was me again, next time he travels alone + then… After the meal we sat on the roof with full tummies. We slept wonderfully, except that at 8 o’clock the two douchebags left. Wieland didn’t feel like staying in this hotel any more and so we left.
With legs tormented by sore muscles (pass hike), we moved to the Tibetan hotel, which only Tibetans stay in.
It’s dirtier, but more comfortable. Right at the beginning, a small dog sat with us and always looked at us obliquely with his faithful eyes.
There was a dried sheep at the market, which was a bit too much for us. We went to the „antique stands“ to look, haggled, laughed, fooled around, it’s all brand new stuff. But it was funny. We bought a pair of sunglasses for 2, which turns day into night. The lenses are similar to welding goggles.
A Swiss person is staying in our room, who has also been studying here for 3 years. He gave us tips for hitchhiking to Kaxgar. The route to Ali is a massive slug „you don’t get much out of it in comparison.“ We thought about looking at something else here and then to Golmud + from there via the Silk Road to Kaxgar. Maybe we can still do something with horses from Kaxgar to the border. We have learned that the plague is said to be in Kaxgar + the border is closed because there is war in Pakistan.
Tuesday July 26th, 1988
11:00
Today we have a third of our journey behind us. When I think back, time passed very quickly. In two days, we are on the road for 4 weeks. We’re in high spirits at the moment. We just bought Chang for 40 Pf. It’s still fresh and tastes a bit like Henninger, some kind of freshly made wine.
This morning, we bought a ticket back to Lhasa. With our student card it was only 36 RUB instead of 80. We marched into the huge monastery. Everywhere small streets + monks. It is an impressive monastery complex and was built by the first Dalai Lama in 1447. In a room sits a huge Buddha, the largest in the world, it is fascinating. He is 27m tall. He’s the Buddha of the future, Champa. It consists of 279 kg of gold. Perched on a huge gilded lotus flower, he stares down at me. His ears are 3 m long. He sits in the „Hall of the Maitreya“ in the Tashilhumpo Monastery. In the „Great Hall“ stands an 11m high statue, set with large stones and is also gold + silver plated. The sight is insane, given the dull light emitted by the rows of burning butter lamps in the foreground.
In another room we could watch the monks printing prayer books. In the courtyard, others were busy restoring the destroyed murals. This monastery leaves a completely different impression than the Potala in Lhasa.
We went to a Chinese restaurant to eat. Wieland was talking to a soldier. Since I ordered this time and everything is not yet under control, it turned out to be a bit much, but it didn’t taste bad.
This morning, I was furious, I woke up, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and said, “Let’s go back to Damxung and try anyway”, because somehow our trip was bland and normal, like any other. The ride through the „Chan Ming“ valley would have been crazy.
I chased Ricarda up a mountain for 1 ½ hours.
To get used to it, we climbed a mountain, well more of a rock. It was quite a steep climb. It was very exhausting, but wonderful because of the bright sunshine. Once at the top, we crouched between branches and prayer flags that were erected on a pedestal. In a good mood we watched the birds of prey hovering above us and the bleating sheep on the neighbouring rock.
When we sat contentedly back in the room over our map, we had the idea not to go back to Lhasa, but to try it directly north from here to Shentza. Why waste 4 days traveling back. From Shentza we could either make it in approx. 10 days to Damxung, or about 12 days to join the great western road towards Kaxgar. Just said, we packed our things + we went to the market. In addition to apples, a rucksack and half a dried sheep, we also grabbed tinned fruit for the evening.
On the way we asked someone if he would sell us his donkey. For 500 (120 marks) we would have had the tiny one without any haggling. We met a wild donkey stallion. He behaved like a real little stallion + couldn’t believe that the mare was watching him totally unmoved.
Tomorrow morning we’ll see what can be done at the market. Now we’re sitting here, each with a cupful of chang. Wieland’s pants are hanging from the ceiling to dry, sweets are scattered on the table + various other stuff, small, green apples are glistening from Wieland’s hat + the drying sheep is hanging at the window. Suspended on a line are the greasy belly flaps + two hind thighs, where half the furry stetz is still attached. Next door, in the local dormitory, singing and laughter can be heard constantly, drunken Tibetans stagger in the corridor. The male “toilet” is overcrowded, so I have to go out with a flashlight because only one side is lit.
Wednesday July 27th, 1988
We have a donkey, or rather a donkey stallion. Yes, our donkey stands outside and screams.
We went to the market early in the morning, but there were very few four-legged friends to be seen. The mood was depressed. A few pathetic attempts to buy a horse came to nothing. We upped the ante. A few donkeys were standing at a grain crusher. We first asked for a tiny „Cromo“.
Next to it was a slightly larger donkey with enormous ears „Cromo“ + the whole flour room was ready. At first they thought it was a joke, but we didn’t give up, after some haggling, the price is probably still twice as much, we bought a strong young donkey stallion plus cart for 1600,- including a sack of feed + a leather feed bag. My god, „Pongu“, that is his name, has fire behind in his backside. He runs like crazy. There we were now at the market with our donkey and a huge crowd round us.
Wieland, with new friends I had found useful things for donkeys and carts, I went looking for food. A huge sack of sweets, milk powder, pot, 7 canned meat, 4 canned fruit, 30 packets of dried meat, 12 rolls, candy + waffles disappeared into our backpack. The saleswoman could hardly believe it and everyone around me sniffed and groped our purchases. With that our expedition equipment would be complete again. Wieland had a great time. Off we went to the hotel with donkey and cart. On the way, a small, shrivelled Tibetan jumped up who knew how to rein in our wild donkey. With this Tibetan, Wieland made an agreement to hire him as a guide for 10 per day, up to the north road. I’m not entirely comfortable with the guy, but he agreed.
While I was posting a letter to dad detailing our exact route + destination (for emergencies), little shit Wieland asked if he could sleep with me. All this doesn’t shock me so much any more, I know that the Tibetans are a bit horny for sex, which is also said of the Yetis. That seems to be their mentality. If the fellow leaves me alone, which I hope so badly, let him think what pleases him. Although, I don’t feel so good about having him in the tent any more. I just hope he leaves me, both „Pongu“ alone.
Everyone thinks the donkey is great. So 600 he seems to be worth. Well, in short, we paid twice as much. Bad luck! A little while ago we watched Pongu eating, he’s a cute brat. I think after two days I’m so in love with our long-eared bat that I can never part with him. Everyone here is so friendly and will help us with the donkey wherever they can. Everyone drags grass or gives good tips. Well, we can handle horses, but we still lack experience with donkeys. I think after two weeks we learned that too.
We estimate 7 days to Shentsa. We were also told that donkeys are not suitable for mountaineering. However, our guide said he would get Pongu over the passes. Well, if that goes well. It starts tomorrow morning. TEU TEU TEU! I only hope for my talismans.
Wake up, lie down for a while because it’s raining. Ricarda is so passive again. We pulled ourselves together and went to the market and whoops we had a donkey for HK$1600.
Totally screwed us but it doesn’t matter because now we have him and there’s no turning back For that price there was another cart a 50kg bag to eat + a leather feeding bag. I also have an air pump with the help of Tibetans, 2 hoses, a roughening arrows + rubber solution bought. Now we started alone with our donkey cart for the first time.
Our totally crazy donkey ran straight away. All passing Tibetans gave tips. Then a small Tibetan followed with a huge bundle of grass, who first asked us if he could put his bundle on the back, when he realized that we are not yet the right donkey drivers, he also drove the lunatic. The donkey runs like a madman, this driver has agreed to take him to North Street. We have already written and sent a farewell letter to Daddy.
Thursday July 28th, 1988
In the morning around 10°° a long sleep was unthinkable. Our guy, who was appointed guide yesterday, was not to be seen, so we set off alone on the long, unknown path. We packed our cart as best we could, harnessed our donkeys, and off we went at full gallop through Shigatse, after 300 m the first rucksack dropped, which we only noticed through the screams of the otherwise laughing crowd. A bead of monks lashed our luggage and off we went at a gallop with our untamed animal, so that the people just splashed away. At the market we bought apples and yoghurt for breakfast and continued our journey. The people were all very friendly. In between we were joined by a wrinkled old woman with her cart. Her little donkey, however, had to do quite a bit to keep up with ours.
We were abruptly interrupted during our trip: The ferry doesn’t run! No river crossing without a ferry. We were not deterred, we continued on towards the Tsangpo River. It is the most water-rich river in Asia + flows into the Indian Ocean. It is the highest river in the world at 4000m altitude. There it was really said that the ferry was not running due to heavy rainfall.
The only thing that sometimes translated across the river were the small yak-skin-covered boats being steered through the raging waters by wild skippers, groans and laughter.
So the question remained, how do we get donkeys, carts, luggage + ourselves across the river in these things? At first it seemed impossible, but when some money fluttered and after some communication difficulties, we then realized that they wanted to translate us with Pongu + wagon. We couldn’t believe it (15 HK$) At first we were a bit sceptical about how they wanted to manoeuvre the donkey, who didn’t like it at all, into such a boat.
Let them do it, was our motto. They laced 3 boats together lengthways. On the middle one came the upside-down cart, sideways on it, which almost fell apart. The luggage and we were distributed among the others. And where should the donkey go? He should swim. We in the boat and we went through the incredibly fast current, the poor donkey at the side was kept afloat by a ferryman by the forelock. When we were over there, they helped us load the car.
It was really exhausting for the rowers, who, like the donkey whose long ears were dangling in the water, made pitiful noises. As a thank you, the good people received a greasy belly flap from our sheep. and it went on. (Nam Tso Lake ate raw bone marrow and grasses, the white)
That wasn’t the end of it, the river crossing continued. We were suddenly startled out of our relief when deep, slimy, rushing water opened up in front of us. That meant unloading everything again + all over again, only with the difference that the distance wasn’t that far. On the other side we and the donkey treated ourselves to a real picnic.
The Tibetans explained everything about our donkeys to us again, feeding them, pegging them (on the leg), bridling them.
This river crossing cost us a lot of time. Go on. We come through a really small paradise, an oasis. There were trees everywhere and in the In the middle there was a lake where three naked children were frolicking about. On our wagon with our hats, so comfortable, we feel like Pippi Long-stocking. Carefree, fun, the sun is shining and we feel really good.
After we had heard a few more times that we would never come to Namling with our cart and if so, in 3 days. We got through a huge downpour…….. Around 8 o’clock we got to a village where we were put up in a tent on the edge for 3 HK$. All the people almost ran down our tent, we were such an attraction. I couldn’t stop her with threats either. After we got milk and eggs for our soup again, I was invited to drink Chang in all the tents. Then when we wanted to sleep, we heard loud singing outside. So I got out again, there were fireplaces with sizzling pots everywhere. The tents shimmered yellowish.
The moon was just rising so everything got light. In the middle were thousands of Tibetans happily singing. It was an awesome mood.
Friday July 29th, 1988
This morning in bright sunshine we continue, although everyone in the village and those who met us later said we couldn’t go any further because the road had been washed away and that was true. We had to make a detour across the Pampas, which took 1 hour. But in the middle of the river valley are ……….distributed. Another river.. here we are again in a valley that flows into the Tsangpo River. A small stream, lush vegetation, the ringing of our donkey bell and not knowing what to do next.
Before we knew it, carts and donkeys had fallen over in the sandy, bumpy ground. Already 1000 helpful hands hastened to the side. It seemed as if afterwards there was nothing left of what we had loaded before we started. I took some photos and I was already being pushed for the instant photo. It got really annoying because I could hardly save myself, but then it went on. Soon the road left its good condition and the cart groaned suspiciously, but our Pongu moved on good-naturedly.
It was getting bumpier. The rain had severely damaged the road. We had to cross a small river, which is also not an easy exercise with Pongu and carts, above all Pongu didn’t feel like it any more and started to climb. Wieland then walked away in front, pounding a donkey, and I tried to balance on top of everything.
It was already evening when we spotted a group of trees behind which we assumed houses.
A cowboy escorted us into the village to a cowshed where we unloaded. Before long the whole village was gathered, not outside but all together with Pongu in the stable. We started to brew a delicious soup with sheep fat, milk, tsampa to thicken it, spices and eggs that Wieland had found somewhere. Wieland had every effort to hold the curious pack. It was annoying. The soup tasted excellent.
Since I now wanted to get rid of my lenses, away from the pack, we tried to drive them out of the stable. Except for a few, it also succeeded. They barricaded the door because there was a lot of pressure from the outside. Wieland wanted to be excluded from the following events. Thus the pressure became so strong that it lifted the door off its hinges. It was hard to believe + bearable. Being the center of attention is nice, but that was way over the top.
The friction that had accompanied us all the way was forgotten. We hired a door guard for the night forbn50 Maotze + we slept well.
This morning, just in time for the screaming of the donkeys, the pack was assembled again. The way to Namling is impossible because the road is too bumpy. We’re going anyway. just get out of this village.
On the way we met others: we had to turn back. However, we were not frightened, but soon saw the misfortune. In front of us there was a 3 m deep furrow that was impossible to cross with a cart. So we set off across country to avoid the evil.
It was a long way for the donkey + particularly difficult for the cart, which led us past a crescent dune, among other things. We stopped there for a moment. We crackled the sand upwards, there we had a crazy view, if we only pay attention to the dunes, we feel like we are in the Sahara. Finally back on the road, we had to cross a knee-high river, but are in practice.
At the river we washed ourselves properly and were immediately surrounded by sheep boys who were all laughing. During our lunchtime meal, their number increased. They weren’t enthusiastic about our leftover can at first, but once they licked it, they wanted more and more. With a full stomach we went on again. One lounged around on the wagon while the other drove + Longear kept pedaling, which was constantly being distracted by donkey poop.
We then easily took smaller hurdles, such as destroyed bridges, sand, steeper slopes. In a small town we got something to eat for long-eared + there we were told that we couldn’t go to Namling with the cart, but we could stay there and drive the tractor the next day. Since it was just starting to rain, we had doubts. Our good Pongu immediately came to mind, which we didn’t want to get rid of so quickly, because such a little rain shouldn’t deter us. It was actually only of harmless short duration.
After about 1 hour we reached the point where the Cha Chu flows into the Tsang Po. Cheerful + in good spirits we jingled around the corner + were horrified to see the approaching disaster. A storm was building up on the opposite mountain. There was thunder + lightning behind the mountain, a huge black cloud was piling up higher + higher behind the mountain + threatened to climb over at any moment. A frightening veil emanated from the cloud. Ahead, the rain wall had already slipped through a gap. The storm heard and looked more and more menacing. At any moment it could overcome the mountain + zoom into the valley. No village was in sight except on the other side of the raging river.
We had already chosen a spot when we discovered treetops behind a hill. Where there are trees, there is also a village. Now Longear had to run. The shepherds drove their flocks of sheep, they too wanted to escape the rain, but by then he had already fought his way over the mountain. It rattled + hailed down like that. Everything was wet in a flash, it dripped from our hats+ from long-eared ears. We reached the village, which was amazing in size. We turn into the small streets. The cart wobbles and groans suspiciously.
Wieland swarms out to find a place to sleep. It wasn’t long before Pongu and I were surrounded by curious children. We could have gotten a place to sleep from an old woman for my denim jacket, rain jacket and tarpaulin, but I haven’t gotten that far yet. After a long wait, Wieland finally came and off we went through narrow, winding, bumpy alleys.
A pack of children ran after our cart, screaming and bawling. main attraction!!!! We were assigned a tent by some important person in the village. When we unloaded the cart, we were surrounded by a horde of curious people in no time.
We struggled to get our things into the tent. Rums, the cart had crashed because the crowd had squatted on it in the crowd. The donkey bell was also torn, because everyone must have touched it at some point. When we then squatted in the tent and tried to boil water, the mass of 6 people pushed closer and closer.
She threatened to roll over the tent. The sides buckled everywhere as the boy who owned the tent took the initiative. Using a pitchfork, he jumped onto the tent and spun into the crowd. Panicked, they fled, some fell, others were hit, everyone was screaming and crying.
It was quiet for a little while, but not for long. We haven’t experienced anything like that, yesterday evening was harmless. Wieland meanwhile acted as a children’s fright by repeatedly rebuking the pack and picking out a few. We ate our tsampa soup. Wieland had got milk and eggs again.
As there seemed to be a party outside with a full moon and a starry sky, we went outside. Everywhere there were fireplaces with sizzling pots, the tents shimmered yellowish. The moon was just rising so it was getting brighter and brighter. In the center were dancing Tibetans happily singing. It was a crazy mood. In a big circle, in the middle of the tents, people sang + danced. I hardly had
Watched for 2 minutes, and I was already dragged in the middle. I had to learn her way of dancing + swinging her around to the disco beat. We were surrounded + it pushed + puffed from all sides. But it was wonderful. Wieland had a similar experience. In between, a horny beet wanted to grab my breasts, boom, he had one on his fingers.
The crowd rejoiced madly. Wieland said the important person in the village wanted us to go to bed, but somehow she didn’t allow us to have fun. Wrapped in sleeping bags, we tried our luck, but it wasn’t easy, the entrance was thrown up again and again + curious people shone their lamps in our faces. Zack, I got a kick in the face from the outside. It was all quite exhausting.
Around 8am we were totally exhausted in Namling, where we were checked by a Chinese: „Where are the passports?“ We find a hotel with real beds (crazy) It was nicer than ever in bed!
Saturday July 30th, 1988
The next morning, we woken up to the shout that our Pongu had disappeared. The shock early in the morning was great. Maybe it was stolen or ran away… 1000 thoughts shot through my head. However, Pongu had only happily taken possession of a clover field + enjoyed the juicy plants.
We quickly packed our cart before the rush could increase + we went on. The valley was gorgeous. The fields shine golden in the morning sunshine. Everywhere people worked in the cornfields. donkey carts greeted us as they approached. It was wonderful.
We passed villages with small streams and lakes. The girls cackle and the boys greeted. The ringing behind us indicated that a donkey cart was approaching. The harnessed donkey was much smaller than ours but easily overtook us. The guys on the wagon waved at us, laughing. You don’t have to put up with that, we spurred our long-eared ears on to brisk donkey trot.
Of course, with our approx. 300 kg, we didn’t have much of a chance. Our lunch menu was excellent. Apples, can of meat, „buns“, waffles + a can of lychees. In the meantime, pot + cup with sand + water were freed from yesterday’s tsampa soup. After a much too short rest we went on. The valley was incredibly beautiful. However, I was feeling a bit lousy and I was just lying on the car brooding, i.e. rather lounging on top of the luggage. An hour later we stopped briefly as I longed for the shade under our cart. It didn’t take long and we were the main attraction again. This laughter and mimicry got on my nerves so much I could have punched someone. We soon drove on to reach our destination, Namling, before dawn.
We passed a mountain full of carved Buddhas, inscriptions + piles of stones. Soon we saw Naming in the distance. It seemed quite close, but we now know how one can deceive oneself here. Behind one mountain chain was the next one, behind it another one + when we thought we had finally made it, the next one blocked our view again. Our path meanders along the torrential Cha Chu. We eyed the water suspiciously because, according to the map, we had to cross it. Another river crossing? We really didn’t want to do that. To our astonishment, however, the city was on the other side than on the map. Apart from that, however, a bridge leads to the other bank. Amazing that there is a bridge here and the Tsan Po is crossed by ferries. Well, that’s quite a thing in this country. The closer Namling got, the more we wanted a real bed. I thought longingly of my home bed, with the thick Duvet + soft, cuddly stuffed rabbit in my arms. Ohh beautiful!!!
Arriving in town, we were first taken to a place where a kind of hotel is supposed to be. “Bed, bed, bed, my brain murmured. However, we were not only near a place to sleep, but also directly across from the police station. First of all, some busybody came by bike + sniffed around curiously in our papers. Wieland then went with him + left me with donkey + curious people. A few times it struck me when uniformed men approached with papers in their hands. However, they seemed more interested in the donkey than in me. After a while, Wieland came back, who probably also had to overcome a few obstacles in order to organize a place to sleep for us. Then came the exciting moment. A room was opened to us in which stood 4 real beds.
We were escorted to a „restaurant“ by a couple of snotty rug rats. There was sweet tea, which I suddenly like, and some kind of meatballs in batter.
Suddenly there was an old hag in front of us + told rudely that we had to wait a bit for the food. Stupid snipe, we understood that long ago. Totally tired + full of longing for the beds, we crept out of the restaurant. But sleep was out of the question. We were stopped on the threshold of our room. There was a party in the next room. Of course we were more than welcome with our cassettes. Chang flowed like water because people can’t stand it if you don’t have a cup filled to the brim in front of you. Then we were asked to dance. People were absolutely delighted. There was also the old woman from the restaurant in the frame + suddenly served us royally.
Some Chinese danced along, others steadfastly refused. They’re all into breakdance here. One of them, apparently the fittest, wasn’t all that bad either. When it came time to repair a cassette, Wieland, everyone was absolutely thrilled. Then, when the time came when my stomach refused to take another sip of chang, we left. The beds were so lovely we couldn’t really describe it. All our limbs hurt + it was a blessing to stretch them out comfortably. One of my lower legs is already blue from jumping on the cart. Well, it doesn’t matter, the main thing is a bed.
Now we sit near a more inhabited spot, let our donkey graze, which happily jingles + constantly wants to go to the cart. Earlier we had to defend him wildly, because suddenly with a loud roar, one of his kind, came running down the nearest mountain. He was followed by three girls, afraid we might harm their darling, but we have enough trouble with our own. Soon we’ll move on happily ringing. The next obstacle will surely follow.
Sunday July 31st, 1988
NAMLING
We’re in a bed, a real bed. We can put all limbs in + stretch as we want, it’s just comfortable. I would prefer not to get up at all.
Rest a day. For our Pongu we picked grass, which is totally forbidden, but it grew on the roadside. We later had to pay a HK$5 fine. We trudged up to Lamaling Monastery, followed by 20 cheeky little, undeterred children. We sat down in front of the monastery to enjoy the view of the valley. A monk came, greeted us friendly and asked us to follow him. We were invited to chatung, butter tea, candy + dried apricots by 5 old monks.
Sunday.
This morning, we drove out with Pongu + cart, not suspecting anything bad, to let Pogu graze. Since we were soon surrounded again, we drove back. We parked the donkey at the market + set out to visit the temple. On the way up we were followed by unstoppable brats. We stopped briefly in front of the temple to enjoy the view of the valley. A monk came, greeted us friendly and asked us to follow him. From 5 old monks we were invited to butter tea and sweets.
This butter tea, „Broth, broth…“ I tried to convince myself, but the stuff is so disgusting, you’ve just choked down a sip and the cup is already full to the brim again. We were shown through the temple + had to look at the hideous new statues of the individual Dalai Lamas, but it was interesting, nonetheless. There are only a few of the old monks left, but we see many young ones, from our age onwards. We had a communicated after a fashion with them and said our goodbyes.
The mountain used to be a monastery with temples up to the top. The general population had their houses at the foot. Since much has now been destroyed, there are mostly only ruins on the mountain.
A Tibetan was already waiting for us at the exit, who was running around wildly wagging with a bushel of grass. After a while we understood that he was exercised about the grass that we had trimmed in the morning. Well bravo, we can’t know it’s illegal to pick grass from the roadside. We were invited to his hut for chang + coffee. We noticed that he has already done some expeditions from Japan + China, but real mountaineering. We explained our plans to him as best we could. Neither horses nor donkeys are available here, we could also take donkeys and carts to Shentsa. We paid HK$5 for the forbidden grass. Wieland is sitting in front of the door + repairing our cart with a couple of snotty noses.
I fixed the wheels off the cart. The wheels wobbled, changing spokes, greasing ball bearings, fitting wheels was one half of the drudgery – honestly – and the others knew a little bit?
Just before I started to cook, the old man with whom we had found a place to stay pestered me with butter tea. I held out the cup to him, but instead of pouring in, he missed. I was amazed, but he also seemed puzzled when it splashed on his hut floor, he then held the cup directly under the spout to prevent a new misdeed. Probably squinting somewhat, the good chap. I’ll try to find some potatoes first. The potatoes are now on the stovetop + the little brats are trying to get through my door. Someone fixed the stovetop, and now the whole gang is pushing against the door. I’ll have to get really pissed off before they leave me alone for at least 5m. Our donkey will surely ‚die‘ of grass poisoning. Wieland made a deal. A candy for every grass bushel. Now Longear stands up to his knees in green fodder!!!
The old man spat like a savage all night long. The old woman often came to look for him, I always hoped that she would close the door, but nothing like that happened. So I had to sleep right next to the open door and listen to the splashing rain.
Later it started to rain heavily.
August 1988
Monday July 1st, 1988
We couldn’t get out of bed as it was raining all the time. At some point we pulled ourselves together, wrapped ourselves up in our chubas, put on a rain cap, fully loaded the car again and continued unenthusiastically in the pouring rain.
This was far from pleasant, although the landscape had a spooky quality through the veil of mist. Then, when a wrapped dark figure stood on a hill, I was reminded of the witch from Polanski’s Macbeth.
At around 1 pm, we stuffed a can of fatty meat and pre-cooked cold potatoes into our mouths with ice-cold, clammy fingers. 6 monks on horseback passed us and greeted us warmly. The latter even had an umbrella stretched over himself. Certainly, a Lama. The trail was excellent. Spent the night in a small village with a short-sighted old man, where it was raining through the ceiling above. The latter soup with vegetables, noodles, lockcha / dried mutton. They carried our things up like a small caravan of porters.
At noon we were eating cold potatoes in the rain when a group of monks on horses approached us greeted. The chief monk even had an umbrella.
Towards the afternoon the rain stopped and it became a bit more pleasant. At 7pm we stopped unsuspectingly at a village to take pictures. However, the stay was a little longer because the cameras didn’t really want to. However, Wieland was suddenly snatched from his fiddling when I cried out in horror: „Hurry, hurry, they’re coming!“, because the village people, who had previously been lined up at a pleasant distance, had already swarmed out to take a closer look at us. 1 hour later we looked for shelter at a few houses, but none was assigned us any.
Luckily we got it a village further on. The bad thing was, the village was on a slope + was inaccessible to our cart. It was unloading + carrying up. So I started with a lot of effort, but was immediately held back by curious village women who dragged everything up to me. We were led into a small plush cottage. Outside was a spinning wheel + in the other part of the house was the kitchenette. There I immediately started to cook + chopped, on the one hand out of hunger pangs, on the other hand to avoid the horrible butter tea. I was able to dust off some greens + in no time a delicious greasy soup was prepared. While eating we had some spectators.
Since I was very tired, I soon performed the contact lens show, which is the highlight of every evening. This time, the crowd was visibly nervous as the action was not clearly visible in the dim light. We were then observed while undressing + the spectacle was brought to an end. However, I didn’t sleep very well.
In the morning, we paid 5 + a picture of the Dalai Lama and the people dutifully carried our things back to the cart. The weather was threatening with rain, but we went on. The days of comfortable cart squatting are over, instead you have to lash + push. At the river crossing I wanted to film, but then the cart + donkey had overturned again. Helping hands were soon there + it was still possible to film.
The lunch sucked. After a strenuous path, mostly uphill, we treat ourselves + donkey to a little breather. It is now 4:30 pm., we continue until 8 pm, until the longed-for peace returns.
It went on, car overturned. I had to grab the donkey by its hind legs and pull it out, it stayed surprisingly calm. We stopped at an idyllic spot. Now we are sitting by a small babbling brook with little flowers blooming everywhere, surrounded by fields and our grazing Pongu.
The romantic scene was shattered when a police car pulled up and asked for ID. Panicked, I calmed them down with our pictures of the Dalai Lama. We then passed through a village where there were thick stones everywhere and the women were at work. We filmed how the wool threads are laid out for spinning. In the evening we set up a tent under our cart.
We built a crazy tent construction, sealed with tarpaulins, stones and rucksacks, we had made a nest for ourselves. To strengthen my sleeping bag, I had 2 champas and a tarpaulin on top of me. However, I was still freezing. We were both very tired but couldn’t fall asleep. It was an experience living under our cart. It’s really hard for me to leave it behind when it has brought us so far. Anyway, I’m curious to see what’s next. Now we still have our donkey + have to carry it ourselves. It wasn’t exactly planned that way. I hope for my talismans !!!!!
Well, dinner was dried peaches and raisins. I was still looking for a pile of dry wood for the fire the next day.
Wieland was scared to death.
It was hilarious under the cart, except when I was lying in my sleeping bag, felt a wee on my arm, grabbed it and threw it out, accompanied by a primal scream.
Tuesday August 2nd, 1988
My god am exhausted. Well, then we continue on Sunday evening, after the cart was fit again + the potatoes were eaten, we went to the market to look for salt. The whole mob was already on their feet to watch us. Since there was no salt in the whole market, we were sent to a restaurant. There, greeted warmly, we were given some salt. We were invited to Chang + had to eat a lot. The taste of this people is simply incomprehensible. In the evening in our cosy bed we talked about delicious food, so that our mouths watered.
It rained all night and no improvement was to be expected in the morning.
Note on Friday , July 29, 1988
The milk we took with us in the morning had turned into sour cream from being shaken on the cart at noon. In the evening we even had pieces of butter in the soup.
Wednesday July 3rd, 1988
It rained a lot during the night, but our tent held up. We cooked a soup, although I found it difficult to get the fire going. We packed everything and off we went. At noon the road got worse and worse until it was like a path, leading along a steep slope.
The road, if you can still call it that, led directly along the side of a mountain. To the right the steep mountain, to the left steeply down into the torrential waters.
My goodness, I was really scared. Wieland led our donkey and I shimmied along the mountain, careful not to let the donkey and cart fall into the abyss. Once it was almost time. One wheel was losing grip and Wieland jumped just in time to support it. Well, that really was close. The river rushes by next to me and I ponder where we stopped yesterday. Yes, that’s right, we took a break at an idyllic spot. A small brook splashed by + small flowers bloomed everywhere.
The romance was shattered when a police car stopped + asked for ID. Panicked, Wieland calmed her down with Pictures.
Then it went on. At a village in the middle of the rocky desert, we stopped again to film how the wool threads are laid out for spinning. In no time at all I was surrounded by a horde of cackling women who always wanted to grab our donkey’s private parts. I’ve said it before, sex-hungry people.
After we had mastered the steep mountain with our cart, we came to the wildly rushing river. Wieland: „I’ll see how deep it is!“ Before I knew it, he was already wading towards the wildly raging middle. He hadn’t reached the worst part when the water grabbed him and he lost his footing. He just managed to grab a rock and pull himself out, soaking wet. We laughed then, but later we realized how dangerous it was. If he had slipped once he would have had it, that what an unlucky day.
The cart with the donkey almost fell down several times. Then there was a river that I almost got washed away with when I crossed it.
We’re sitting here on a raging river + can’t get any further. Two Tibetans with their Jacks and said the cart would never not make it any further. With a heavy heart, we lightened our backpacks as much as possible. We’re going to try it on foot now, just with a backpack each. Pongu carries the food. But it’s not that easy, because our donkey doesn’t want to cross the bridge. Pulling, tugging, pressing, nothing helps, nothing helps, we almost made it, but the animal got stuck with its front hooves or legs. He sat there helplessly until Wieland freed him. Two jak drivers with their packed jacks assisted us in dumping our belongings as well as tugging.
We got them to the point where they wanted to carry the donkey across the river for 150. That didn’t work at all, now try, for the same price, to drive him further up the river. My God it was all going to get so complicated. One of the two was a wild-looking game hunter. Unfortunately, he is extremely unphotogenic, hence a short description. He only has a few teeth left in his mouth. A fur hat adorns his head and a rifle hangs over his back, just like Old Shaterhand knew how to use.
Now we are sitting here, it is already 4.30 am and waiting for our donkey!!!
After 1 hour they came back with our donkey, happily on a leash, which was then loaded up again. It went on. The jack guys got on their jacks and galloped off. It was crazy to watch these animals run away with sure feet.
Thursday August 4th, 1988
My God, what we went through yesterday is unbelievable.
When the three figures came back with our donkey, it was packed again. The donkey had quite a load to carry. However, he seemed in good spirits when he saw that we didn’t have to walk without a load either. The road became more and more a path that would no longer have been passable for our cart.
The view was insane. Just us and Pongu, the raging river steep next to us. It really looked like something out of an adventure movie. We could hardly believe it was us who were wandering along. The path went down to the river and became more and more narrow until it finally ended. We could only guess where the odd Jacks walked along. Unfortunately, the mountain we were winding our way along became steeper and rockier. We had to be damn careful where to step. A leg or foot broken here, it would look bad, for far and wide there was not a soul to be seen. As I make my way through the scree, I just see the donkey’s load slipping down the steep side. I keep screaming: „Be careful!“ but it had already happened.
The long ear suddenly lost its footing and literally tumbled down.
His backside had slid down the slope. He looked helplessly for support, but the burden kept pulling him down. Wieland only had him by the bridle.
I could only hold him with difficulty.
He pulled as he could. I rushed to the rescue, stumbling over the rubble. Our donkey got a hold but stayed half on its side and half on its stomach. We quickly unlaced him and helped him up.
The saddle lines were cut just in time and we were just able to save him.
Luckily our Pongu wasn’t hurt and our things to eat were still there. However, we still had quite a bit of steep mountain ahead of us. „Let’s carry the stuff over there, I’m afraid that the donkey will fall into the river with the stuff.“ „Oh nonsense, I don’t want to carry all the stuff!“. So we packed him up again. We went a little further along the raging river, then steeply uphill again and the donkey lost his balance again.
He slipped his hind legs again, was now only hanging on by the snaffle, kept slipping because the whole load had slipped. Meanwhile, I tried to get rid of my backpack. Pongu couldn’t get a foothold and fell into the middle of the water. It was impossible for him to get up. At every attempt, he twisted his ankle again. I could puke, all the luggage was wet. The straps were cut again and we only tried to save our luggage, which the current wanted to sweep away. Rici brought the donkey to safety, and he immediately began to eat.
This time he was lying at the edge of the river. The luggage had slipped so far back that it was impossible for him to get up. At every attempt he buckled again.
I got rid of my backpack and rushed to help. Our donkey was now standing again, but this time further in the raging river. We didn’t know if he would be torn away by the current at the next step. I unbuckled Wieland’s backpack and in a wild panic he waded to the donkey and cut the ropes. At first I thought, now it will wash them both away. I took the donkey and led it a bit until we reached a level place. We carried the individual pieces of luggage, which had become damn heavy because of the water, to the donkey. All of our dried foods were wet!!!!!
All our provisions were wet. A lot of it could not be saved. We were totally down. I set up the tent as best I could and Ricarda spread things out to dry.
I tore open the individual bags + laid everything out to dry. The tea was swollen, the noodles were just a slippery mass, a sweet sauce was sloshing around in the dried meat, the sugar was sticky + the raisins were soggy, even the tsampa had become wet, a sticky lump formed on the bottom. We put our soaking wet things on some bushes.
Luckily, we had carried our important things ourselves, camera and money.
Wieland meanwhile set up the tent + boiled water to save a few more soggy noodles.
Made a fire where we cooked our soggy noodles. The night was awful.
Scattered around the tent were food, jeans, Tschampas, coloured socks, ropes and tarpaulins to dry. With the bad luck we had, we now hoped that at least it wouldn’t rain during the night + so our dry work could make progress. Since I had neither chubas nor tarpaulins to strengthen my sleeping bag, it was freezing. Schwupp, I popped a quick sleeping pill. However, it didn’t help much.
In the tent we heard the gurgling of the river, and just as we were imagining that the river would perhaps flood today + wash everything away, it started to rain. It seems to me that Wednesday was just a whole day of bad luck. …….. At the very beginning we have to jump into a stream, because it pulls longears into the abyss again, then the cart almost tips us over at a narrow stretch, then the river blocks our way, we have to empty everything. But that wasn’t enough, the donkey refuses to go over the bridge, then falls twice after it has arrived on the other side + drags our food bags into the water, when everything is laid out to dry, it starts to rain.
After so much bad luck, things should go on smoothly for the foreseeable future. The jak drivers told us: with the donkey it was at least 10 days to Shentsa. Now the question is whether we should turn back (although I think that our cart + our remaining belongings are no longer in place anyway. “Trapper Toothless” has certainly already taken possession of it) or continue to Shentsa.
However, our donkey is overweight + some of our food spoiled. Also, we don’t know what the condition of the „path“ to Shentsa is like.
On the other side of the river we discover a street, yes a real street. Last night, adding insult to injury, a caravan of horses moved leisurely up the river on the opposite side. Now I’m sitting here alone, it’s freezing cold on an insulating mat, wrapped in a sleeping bag. The river, which looks so harmless from here, ‚ripples‘ past, the donkey gnaws some undergrowth. Wieland marched off like a trapper to scout out the path a bit. Maybe he will meet some nice people who will welcome us stranded people with open arms + help us with compassion. A wishful thinking! Have my talismans lost all power?
I went first to see if there were any nomads living somewhere who could help us to find the way. I found them after 1 hour, where I was first eyed up suspiciously, but then invited to chatung and cheese curd. There was no sign of civilization here. It was really primal. There I realized that we were following the wrong river the whole time.
What might the road to Shentsa look like? If the jak drivers refused to take us to Shentsa even for 500+ Longears? Is it even possible without a guide? Trouble is, we don’t feel the urge to go back. We still want to make it to Shentsa. Some vehicle will surely take us away from there.
The sun has already reached half the river and will hopefully reach me soon to warm my frozen feet, which are stuck in damp socks. It is definitely on the best way in my + Loeffel’s direction. I’ve just thought to myself, everyone at home will probably ask us if we’re not quite right in the head + and didn’t just turn back at the river. To be honest I didn’t have a very good feeling from the start when we paid the 3 guys to take the donkey across the river. It’s too late now.
Wieland has been gone for so long, will he come back with good or bad news? I hate to think what kind of obstacles we still have to overcome!! Have we been forgotten by everyone at home so that the many talismans have lost their effect? Today doesn’t seem to be our lucky day again! It can’t go on like this forever. I sat by the raging river and waited.
Wieland came back + reported that he had spoken to a Tibetan who also said 10 days still. That and the course of the river seemed very strange to us, we looked through everything again and noticed that we had missed the way to Shentsa. Not just recently, we had followed a completely different flow for a while. Already on the first day, there was a strange strong kink in the river, which we interpreted differently at the time. We now had two options: either
10 days of uncertainty with a donkey that is not made for climbing, or immediately back to Namling and from there possibly on the right road to Shentsa. Our guess is that we marched on the wrong side of the river. Some kind of turd told us, first across the river, then to Shentsa, although that’s how it’s marked on the map. Well, since the 10 days of uncertainty without a guide seemed a bit risky, we turned back.
Again, we threw away some things. The donkey was packed again and off we went. Perhaps our cart was still standing by the river. At first it went quite well, along the scree hill, but then the donkey, the dumbo, had to turn around to catch a blade of grass and he slipped again, but this time fell 10m high over the raging river. He slipped, I quickly removed my backpack and yelled at Ricarda to cut the lines.
I tried to pull the luggage from his back as quickly as possible, but when the donkey tried to get up, he couldn’t get a hold and slid down with the rubble. On the second attempt he fell so unluckily that he was now hanging with his legs towards the slope and his back and head downwards. If the animal had fallen further, it would have thrown itself to its death.
Then he lay there with his back down, his white belly pointing to the sky, his head laid very still and didn’t move, waiting for us to do something. In our minds we saw him floating down the river. I grabbed him by the front legs. Shouted at Ricarda to grab him by the hind legs and pull him around, carefully turn around. We still slid a little further.
It wasn’t easy, but Longear let it happen to him. He found his footing again and we brought him + one piece of luggage after the other to safety, and Pongu immediately started eating again. There we walked along the water’s edge. Except for the fact that the water canister fell down once, the rest of the way back to the „cart“ went smoothly. When we peeked around the corner wearily to find that the cart and some of our left behind belongings were gone. Well done!!.
This means, that Wieland, who is on his way to get Langohr across the river (which is still very doubtful), will have to walk all the way back to Namling, with the luggage on his back.
Now I’m sitting here again by the raging river and waiting. This time, however, on the other side, as I have already brought our luggage over the swaying suspension bridge. I’ve scattered things around me to dry again, our food is getting less and less. The feeling is not great + yesterday’s crossing for 150 was not very worthwhile either. But don’t lose our nerve, Namling with its comfortable beds is only 2 days from here. I have terrible back pain, but I have to deal with it!!
I went with the donkey to cross the river with it, but couldn’t find a suitable place because the river was too raging. I came back disappointed. Ricarda had already brought all the luggage over the bridge and said that the 3 Tibetans were gone much longer yesterday. So I started again, over stones and climbing actions, after 1 hour I found a great ford and it was easy to cross. When I came back on the path in good spirits, Ricarda was sitting on a stone, as high as possible, and was very happy about my return.
So I sat by the raging river and waited. Wieland did not come. I started to worry and blame myself. In my mind I saw a big-eyed donkey whirling past me. In order to spot Wieland in time, I took up post on a large stone. When I saw him waving and approaching with the donkey, I was so relieved that I burst into tears and hugged my brotherheart very, very tightly and didn’t want to let go of him.
First, we ate hungrily, canned meat, tangerine chocolate, almost spoiled stuff. The dried meat lay on a stone. Ricarda suddenly screamed.
As I approached the meat, which I had laid on a stone to dry, I felt quite nauseous. In one place it was swarming with maggots, frolicking deliciously. Disgusting!! away with it.
Packed, we went back up the steep mountain that we had tackled with the cart yesterday. We still saw our footprints and I felt quite silly. We must have been stupid to drive down this narrow path with the cart, only now did we really realize how dangerous this action had been. If the cart had still been there, I would have died of fear that way. Wieland was no less afraid. Since we couldn’t spot any other cart tracks, we assumed the buggers had fun throwing our cart into the current. Well, the cosy times are over, now you have to tow yourself!
We hiked on and camped near nomads who were very unfriendly at first but then offered us wood, cheese, chang and other things.
They invited us to buttermilk, they filled us up with it, the only drink besides Chang that can be enjoyed here. From the conversation we concluded that the way to Shentsa is quite difficult on this side, because he didn’t want to take us there with the Jaks either.
We talked for a long time, it was really cosy to sit outside and sign language with them.
The nomad women looked amazing. The hair was adorned with amber and turquoise set in silver. The hair itself was braided into 1000 small pigtails. An old woman also had earrings, down to her shoulders. Dad would have ’snapped‘. It went on and then Tumblepongu lay down. What a cheek is that, he just lies there with defiant eyes in the middle of the path, he didn’t feel like it any more. Imagine that!!
But we went on, after all we also have to sleep. Past our old sleeping place, we headed towards a ruin. Next to it were nomad tents. Wieland asked if we could spend the night here. They seemed quite unwilling, however, and babbled on about wild Jaks, biting dogs. Undeterred, we set up camp on the other side of the ruins. Then they became curious, but also friendly. We got water, firewood and tea. As we sat comfortably and warmed our feet by the fire (one of my socks has a hole now because Wieland wasn’t paying attention) an old woman came and brought us some kind of cream cheese. Well, I’ve already described how cosy it was in the middle of the Heidi mountains.
We sit in the midst of ruins, Pongu lies with us by the fire. Our shoes + socks are about to dry. The sky is slightly cloudy and the mountains in the background look like a canvas. Wieland is trying to find a couple of old people who have diligently brought a kind of cream cheese with them, but there was another picture. We ate a heavily spiced noodle soup made from the soaked river noodles!
Pongu, the curious guy ate a spoonful of noodles and he liked it so much that he licked the whole pot afterwards. I think the salt did him good. He’s quite a sweetheart, our long-ear, and above all, so willing! There he lies and is watching us. I think he thinks everything we do here is great. My back hurts, but no wonder, after 7 hours of hiking with a heavy backpack. It’s getting too dark now!
We sat by the fire for a long time until it was dark, it was so incredibly beautiful. Well, at night we woke up, it was raining cats and dogs again. Since our entrance cannot be locked, it rains right in and on our head.
Friday August 5th, 1988
Surprisingly, the tent is tight, but since the entrance could not be closed, it rained happily in and didn’t stop. When it was time to continue, we didn’t feel like it at all.
When we tried to load Pongu, he arched his back. Well bravo, he’s put his back out. That was probably too much for him yesterday. That’s it, chuck more Tsampa + even more donkey food. Wieland then wanted to leave Tibet as he’d had enough of the bad weather, but I need to see Shentsa, we’re going on.
It’s insanely exhausting with the backpack, but somehow we keep going, even when we think: it’s no longer possible. The landscape is so impressive that we don’t mind the load any more. Where we ate lunch, a Tibetan woman came by who was very happy about a couple of soggy sweets, and she also got two empty cans. We walked past a water mill, which we looked at. The miller, a Tibetan, was dusted with tsampa flour from top to bottom, including white hair. He showered us with puffed wheat, peas, tsampa base and tsampa. We also got some peas from a girl, which we saved for the evening soup.
No one should tell me again that we wouldn’t get anything to eat on the way. At the bridge where Pongu fell over, we took a short break. + immediately had all sorts of company. It was hilarious as they’re all keen on our long spoon. Yes, and in Lapu, an total village, there was a real hotel, more like a flophouse. It cost 12 for both, but we got delicious butter tea, crackers and grains. We simmered a bean soup under watchful eye from spectators. The mats we were supposed to sleep on looked like they were home to 1,000 little critters. Then at night it poured with rain. Thank God we had a roof over our heads.
A hotel in the middle of the wilderness for 12 HD, which was way over the top, but a roof over your head in the usual nightly rain.
Saturday August 6th, 1988
On the way to Namling, we were joined by a Tibetan who presented us with baked bread. When we made lunch, it was raining + there was a can of pineapple + a bag of soggy candy. But not much can shock us survivalists anymore. When we set off again, the sun peeked out. Slowly we dragged ourselves along hour after hour. At the monastery we met two donkey experts who corrected our packing style, gave us tips and were blown away by our survival donkey. Yesterday the good guy was allowed to lick the pot again, this time with cream cheese. We gave the slimy sweets and our empty cans to a curious old woman, which she didn’t want at first.
This was an 11 hour hard march where we and Pongu almost collapsed. Ricarda had it on her heels and I had 3 huge blisters on my right foot so we hobbled along but ended up getting there totally exhausted. We ended up staying in a reasonably good hotel, but fortunately it rained. The beds were bliss.
The way became longer and longer, the backpacks heavier and heavier. In the end I was fed up. We walked for almost 11 hours when we reached Namling at 10 pm. The crowd was staring again, but this time we’re in a Tibetan hotel. The meatballs that had kept me going for the last 2 hours didn’t exist. The restaurant was opened especially for us and we got noodle soup, which didn’t taste half bad. After a lot of sweet tea, we fell dead in our beds. I walked the way to the hotel like a cowboy!!!!
Sunday August 7th, 1988
NAMLING 11 am
At the moment I’m totally groggy in bed. It’s dripping in everywhere, in the yard our donkey tries to scream, but his voice has weakened drastically over the past 11 days. Wieland is somewhere, no idea what he’s up to. When I got up this morning, my heels hurt like hell. I somehow pulled them during our somersaults.
Nobody can really say which way it is to Shentsa and how long it will take. Some say 3 days, others 5, 7, 10. One time it goes along the Cha Chu, one time directly north from here, one time not suitable for the donkey, another time the donkey is fine, but we aren’t … The door is constantly being thrown open and someone, sometimes several, are standing in the room. But don’t go out again straight away, they just look and babble a bit. There were two wild looking guys in here earlier. Wieland + I imagined letting them lose in a hotel in Germany. We had a lot of fun with this delightful thought, but the two also talked about us. Two military freaks are peering curiously through the door. There was a little one in the room who did everything we told him to do. It’s nice, such a little slave. It might be appropriate to take him with us.
After getting up, we picked our donkey some grass behind some houses, because we wanted to avoid being punished again. We observed small, fat warthogs that eat grass even faster than our long spoon. It’s hard to believe that he can still be beaten. Now there are two military men who Wieland brought with him. Yes, things are lively here.
At the market we bought 30 loaves of fat bread and 20 filled with leeks. The good woman has conjured up the business of her life. Wieland bought some meat with spinach on the house that he had been given and made a fabulous meat soup out of it. We really ate our fill.
At dinner we had 10 spectators again, it was hilarious. That they didn’t make themselves comfortable was all. Our roommate looked amazed as he saw the crowd gathered around us. He sent them out, but some were undeterred. Wieland then left and pressed his nose flat against the window from the outside. Our guests were amazed. I’m just lounging in bed here because I’m so exhausted.
Lazy day, but somehow, we’re excited to go, but on the other hand we already know the hardships, so we’re a bit sceptical. Nobody really knows much, we’ll see.
Monday August 8th, 1988
Now we’ve been in Tibet for 4 weeks and it’s the 12th donkey day. Because of my heel, we’re still in Namling, lounging on the beds. We can hardly believe it, but the sun is shining outside. With a bit of luck, which we’ve been missing lately, the sun might shine tomorrow, or at least it won’t rain in the morning. We discovered a shop and increased our stock of pasta to 15 packages.
Now there is a considerable amount of food waiting on the next bed, just waiting to be set out. Otherwise very little happens here. I washed my hair today first time in two weeks. It’s a divine feeling. I secretly sneaked to the water tap of our former sleeping place + thus had peace from the onlookers. After a short while Wieland came, for whom the village water tap was probably too busy, despite the loud noise.
A few eggs calmed the stomach and I packed our food in the plastic bags that had become a rarity due to the stranding. Everything just sticks disgustingly. Delicacies such as preserved fruit are not included.
I now seriously doubt that we’ll ever reach Shentsa. Wieland spoke to someone again today who said it would take 10 days. In any case, cars do not drive on this route. I’m a bit scared that it’s going up and down steeply. I just want to spare us another tumble. If we ever reach Shentsa, I’ll throw confetti + butcher one from Arnes pot-rum. That idea would be nice.
We just imagined walking through the middle of nowhere + suddenly there was a bakery selling little cheese rolls. I would move in there. Now such a crispy, crunchy cheese roll, that would be something!!!!!
The day after tomorrow we’re half through and I’m curious to see what Wieland has to say about our and my gummy bears. He’s not doing so well at the moment, he must have eaten too much sugar yesterday and now he’s puking. He has the runs. I hope it doesn’t get me too. Well done!
Hopefully we can get our little donkey through. He was just delighted when we gave him tsampa in the water. He licked the whole pot. Yes, we and our Pongu live out of one pot. He’s such a cutie. Everyone here is afraid of him. This is most likely due to the fact that he is a particularly large and well-built specimen. Comparing it to the local donkeys leaves us with a smile. When I think about tomorrow with a backpack, I would like to crawl deep into bed and wrap myself up so I don’t have to get out again. But this hard core march was also enormous. I don’t think it’s worth repeating.
I keep asking myself, will we make it? Arnes pot-rum would be worth it. Wieland has just told me how thieving Arne was about smuggling the Suvival pack into my backpack. Grinning, he must have stood in front of the door with the pack. I think this idea is great, above all it’s always nice to know that there is someone just thinking about you without any ulterior motives. Just someone you get along with really well.
I still have a few letters to write, but I threw away all the stationery. The girl from the hotel just gave me two handfuls of salt. She reminds us somewhat of our cook in Banak Shol. She comes in, sits down, looks around, not uncomfortable, just natural. Nobody here can get their head around it that we really want to walk to Shentsa, instead of talking a car. See the landscape…
I would also scratch my head if a Tibetan ran from Cologne to Frankfurt just to look at the landscape.
Our new roommate, a wool merchant, has just scattered his belongings across the earth. Our friend from the next bed is wildly busy. Groaning, he rummages around in the wool, shifts it from one sack to the other, half falling onto the floor, weighs, clears again, collects from the eggshell-strewn ground, sorts…
In any case, it’s not exactly clear what he’s doing, he’s very busy. In the meantime, we have found, I believe, the starting route to Shentsa, on the other side of the river.
Tuesday August 9th, 1988
The last preserves, tangerines eaten and two eggs, and off we went. Our donkey loaded food for about 10 days and we with our stuff on our backs.
It didn’t rain this morning, this time we went on the correct side, towards Shentsa. Our lunch is becoming more and more meagre, in the meantime everything is counted, since it is calculated tightly for the sake of the donkey. There were three small rolls + candied apples for everyone, still from the times of the first equipment. It wasn’t much, but it was a blessing to lie there with your back free, to feel the sun peeking out sometimes, to listen to the rushing, babbling brook. After far too short a time, we went on.
Around the next bend, a familiar face came towards us. Big reunion!
It was the wanderer we had met in Lapu. We hiked with him for a while. It was quite amusing. He said we would only need 6 days, but we prefer to calculate with 7 or 8. On the further way we were invited to butter tea by a few nomads. They said our donkey would never get across the river.
We almost exchanged our groggy long spoon, with its white belly, which I always love to scratch and the long fluffy ears, for a horse. However, this was a bit too bad.
I get a little nostalgic when I think about having to give away the good animal, which always got uncomfortable around 6pm at the time when we had the cart and tried to make it clear to us that it really was enough, now fully loaded, either sneaking around + dawdling, or prepared some attacks on the backpack, thighs or elbows from behind, which always teasingly nibbles on our trousers.
Well, at the moment the curious nose is standing near our tent and would like to slip inside. As we left the nomads, joined by a few other travellers on horseback or bicycles, it began to rain.
We continued through some streams, which kept our feet continuously wet, as well as a downpour.
We were crossing a bush landscape teeming with colourful birds. Around 7:00pm we met a wanderer who wanted to sell us those strange, overpriced onions for 150 again. He and his son were interested in our long ear and would have paid us 300. They didn’t want to believe that the good guy had already paddled through the Tsang Po. When we asked about a place to sleep, they pointed around the corner and grinned nastily because they had the usual Tibetan thoughts again. Since we somehow hiked past the ’sleeping place‘, we walked until 9pm before we pitched our tent between two boulders.
A village we had crossed before didn’t want to take us in. By the way, my feet are wet, so one can only hope for the midday sun. Today is a big day, the 14th donkey day, halfway through carry-the-backpack-yourself time. Let’s see what we can make of it in the pouring rain. Wieland is pushing, so we’re going straight into the wet shoes + onward. Cheers! If it was only the shoes, but since the rain doesn’t want to stop, everything was soon even more wet. Hiking was no longer fun at all.
So at night we slept in the tent again, which was set up between two large stones in no time at all. From the outside it looked quite rickety but very spacious inside.
Wednesday August 10th, 1988
Rain, rain, rain halfway through the tent we stayed dry.
We are in the tent, it rained all night, everything is still dry here, although a lot has become damp. When I think about stepping right back into my shoes, which are forever wet from crossing rivers… The tent is a proud invention.
As we were dismantling the tent, a Tibetan came along. Laughing, he came booting onto our small plateau and was royally amused about our tent. But it also looked wonderful as it hung flat + limp between the two stones. Since Wieland was very busy inside, it kept bulging in all sorts of places. The idiot has a good laugh, it’s not that easy to work in such a narrow tent while it’s raining outside. I set off today like a severely disabled person, a bandage around my heels and one around my knees, which was painful again yesterday. Well, at least I don’t have to put the two bandages on my shoulders.
The „road“ is more and more often buried with boulders, so that smaller climbing actions are added. Yesterday we were able to observe on the opposite side of the river how the streets are cleared here. The truck comes, stops in front of the stone avalanche + all passengers have to get out and get to it. After hours of hard work, it’s time to move on. On our way we met nomads with fully loaded jaks. They said there were still 5 days until Shentsa.
Well, we’re counting on 6. At the bridge over the Cha Chu we had the problem with our donkey again. He absolutely didn’t want to go over. Trying to pull him, he slipped and lay pitifully half on the bridge with his luggage. However, the slippiness of the planks also had an advantage. Wieland was only able to get the struggling donkey over the bridge by pushing it over the slippery planks. The good guy was amazed.
Help came from the village, they had followed our efforts with excitement. Since we had everything down anyway + everything was wet, we ate lunch, which turned out to be just as sparse, except for the surprising bag of gummy bears, as dinner (2 ½ rolls, 1 chocolate, 6 candies).
Surprisingly, Ricarda brought out a bag of gummy bears as halftime + 14 days donkey. It was delicious to stuff them in your mouth with cold, wet fingers and to suck them with relish.
Shortly after we left, we took a vitamin potion from Arne’s survival pack. Hey, that was good. The gummy bears have never seemed so delicious to me as they are today. At the moment the sun is shining + everything around us is lying out to dry again, by the way, my backpack is not waterproof.
Every normal person would ask himself, why are we doing this at all? Hauling heavily, and besides feet that are always wet anyway, it rains constantly + the rest gets wet too, the food is scarce and unsatisfactory + they still have constant trouble with the donkey. They torment themselves along the path for 8-9 hours a day, only to then enjoy a total of 2 hours a day, squatting in nature with their backs free of the burden + listening to the burbling brooks. What I find so great about it, waking up in the morning with wet feet and hearing that it’s raining again, torturing myself for hours with my backpack…I don’t know either.
But moments like just sitting on a stone writing + watching are just wonderful. I think you really long for the goal, but when you get there you’re disappointed that it’s all over. Well, I think we still have a few obstacles before we reach our goal. Good luck!!
Again, a lone wanderer came, who warned us about the raging river between here and Shentsa. We’ll see, but let’s move on first. It only went on for 1 hour, then there was a crazy view of a monastery that was built on a rock. Most of it was derelict or destroyed. In front of it, at the foot, a torrential stream flowed down on a meadow that surrounded the stream, horses covered with colourful carpets grazed. Some monks looked down from the monastery. A few Tibetans were sitting and drinking chang by a nearly collapsed bridge that the torrent had destroyed.
The only disadvantage of this idyll was that from then on Pongu didn’t go any further, because he went on strike again to cross the bridge, which I could understand. So unloaded, sent him to the horses and drank a cup of chang, while we were told that there was absolutely no point in the rain, which caused the rivers and streams to swell enormously and would also make it impossible to advance on foot. End of the dream!!!!!
Since it was now 7pm, we looked for a place to sleep. After a while an elderly dishevelled Tibetan agreed to accommodate us. Ricarda organized the removal of our luggage in the small fortress. Because normally doors are tightly closed. They look down from the roof, which has a wall of jak shit about 1m high at the top, which is stored out there to dry. It was very cosy in the hut. Even then we only got to hear that it didn’t go any further.
At dusk I set off and looked north towards Shentsa, our failed target. I stood in front of a precipice, near the last houses and looked at a huge valley through which the river meandered, broad and with many veins. A few trees were still there. The whole was surrounded by mountains, the highest of which had sunk slightly at the top. But this will remain a dream for the time being. As usual, I spent the night very restlessly, pondering a lot about adventure and “fantasy”. Because somehow I feel like I’m in the adventures that I’ve often played with Dieter. The only thing missing, and fortunately, are the many monsters, but otherwise it’s the same. Be free! Be free! Be free!
Thursday August 11th, 1988
We are lying in our tent, it is raining cats and dogs outside. Wieland attached the flashlight to the ceiling with a construction, which now makes it possible to write despite the rain and dusk. It’s best if I start on the previous page.
There, a horde of riders with Chang awaits us. The bridge was already half collapsed, and one had to walk on it with extreme caution. We, meanwhile donkey experts, saw immediately that this was nothing for our donkey. The riders still tried to push, push, pull – but not with our donkey. So there we sat. Should we start to further lighten our backpacks, e.g. finally remove the rudiments, pack food and continue without a donkey? But what if it doesn’t work out, then we would have to go back to Namling with our heavy backpacks. First of all we sat down with the group with a cup of Chang. They found everything extremely strange + actually wanted to buy our Pongu for 50. I’d rather give it away to some kid!!!
We learned from a group of hikers that the road to Shentsa was cut off. Because of the heavy rain, which we had experienced heavily, the rivers had become so raging that they destroyed all the bridges. No chance without a bridge.
Of course you never know if you can believe people. However, no one agreed to accompany us, no matter how much money. So we packed everything up again. The riders set off + we searched for a suitable place to stay for the night. At first nobody in the village wanted to welcome us, so Wieland went looking for a campsite. A busybody was already there, who said the donkey shouldn’t eat there + we should set up the tent in the middle of the stony path. Well, he’s probably not right in the head, in the middle of the way, wouldn’t be the smartest move.
While we were still looking, we received word that we had found a sponsor. So Wieland marched off to look at the place. „Ricarda organize the transport!“ In return for a picture, everyone who had dared to cross the bridge was ready to schlepp. It took me some effort to make sure no one did run off with a piece of our luggage hoping to get a picture. When the time came, the carriers went ahead of me + the gaping horde behind me. When it came to the pay out, things got messy + difficult. Keeping the pack under control. „Grutschi, Grutschi!“ sounded from all sides. Since we are not a welfare institute, there was nothing more to hand out. The cabin bore some resemblance to our first camper experience, although it seemed a bit larger + neater. The master of the house was a dishevelled, unkempt-looking man. After a hearty noodle soup with vegetables, he confirmed that there was no hope to Shentsa.
After this disappointment we had to sleep first. In the morning it looked like we had decided about not taking the risk. Also, the food would have become scarce for another 7 days + we would have had to carry everything ourselves. Once on the way, we would probably have dared a lot to get further. And that might have been a bit reckless.
After Wieland had delivered a flashlight as payment + half bought, half exchanged and pocketed a snuff box, we wanted to set off. However, a donkey driver blocked our way because he had taken a liking to our long-eared friend, like so many other times. Since we couldn’t get shot of the guy, he accompanied us part of the way until he realized that he wouldn’t be the next owner. „Tschu, Tschu!“ That’s how Wieland, the donkey scarer, drives the long spoon on.
We stopped at the bridge. Why actually back to Nanling? We could also try to go to Lapa + just sit on the street there. So we wouldn’t have to go back the same way, we would see something new. We would be spared Namling, because a third time is excessive.
So we continued on the same side of the river, although we now only found a small path. On the way, a horde of snotty boys who had been busy picking rosehips shot up to us. They swarmed out like locusts when Wieland threw his used batteries into the bushes.
Arrived in the village, we were immediately swarmed. Since Wieland stopped the pack by filming, I was able to march on with our long spoon undisturbed. On a small path, between fields fenced with stones, I discovered a beautiful motif.
I was about to press the shutter button when I felt a hard thump on the shoulder. Behind me was a swivel eyed, dishevelled-looking guy with tsampa still stuck to his hair and face. He babbled some unintelligible stuff, grabbed our donkey and, gesticulating wildly, left. At first I was quite in shock, until I ran after the donkey and the guy and tried to stop him. Wieland was not in sight + the man chattered and did not give the donkey out. At least I got him to go in the opposite direction.
When Wieland came over, a bit baffled, he tried to talk to the guy. However, this was impossible because he was so hectic, no one really understood what he actually wanted and kept pushing on. Laughing, we finally gave in to his bullying, to see what would follow.
He led us through an old village whose streets were deep in manure + mud. In between, he stopped again for no good reason and talked animatedly to us. It was too funny. He didn’t let go of the donkey the whole time.
We finally stopped on a kind of plateau with a tent on it. As if it was totally normal, he was about to tether the donkey to his dwelling. He said something about „Cha“ and pointed to the threateningly dark sky. That was perhaps meant quite nicely, only we wanted to continue and not go in his tent. By now the rest of the village had gathered on the plateau, laughing as well.
While Wieland was filming, I tried to get my hands on the donkey again. As the guy got louder and more stubborn, I tried to calm him down; „Gib endlich a Ruh!“ (be quiet!) he reacted, albeit hesitant. He always wanted to tell me that the donkey couldn’t go any further or something like that. After much negotiation, I took the donkey’s leash and marched away in a hurry. I was a little ahead, but Wieland followed with crazy man and the rest of the village, who soon caught up with me. The guy was already trying to snatch the leash from me again, which was repeated several times. Whoops, he threw his lice jacket on our donkey while he was babbling loudly and gesticulating even more wildly. It was starting to seem like the guy wasn’t on this planet any more. On the way sat some Tibetans repairing the road.
When they saw us approaching with the old man who couldn’t be shaken off, they motioned for us to sit with them. They had envious fun at the spectacle that presented itself to them. Soon we were surrounded by the whole village. What the old man croaked out, everyone, including us, burst into resounding laughter.
The good guy seemed to be some kind of village clown. „Wieland take a picture of the guy!“ When Wieland wanted to take a picture, he angrily refused. Since he noticed that Wieland wasn’t deterred, he got really angry. Angry and filled with hatred, he lifted a thick stone from the ground. However, before it came to a throw, a little kid had clung to the stone. As soon as the little one was shaken off, the muddlehead already had the second stone ready. Now the village intervened, they held him down to snatch the stones from him. With loud laughter, they made us understand that it was time to move on quickly. Since
I thought the old man was in safe hands, I urged the donkey on. A mudslide blocked the path and made progress difficult. While I was trying to get my feet and the donkey’s, knee-deep in mud, back onto solid ground, I suddenly felt a hard hit on the shoulder. The old man had been able to free himself and come after me to prevent our progress. He had already grabbed me and the donkey when Wieland threw himself on him from behind and left him lying in the mud „Tschu, Tschu, hurry up before the old man gets on his feet again!“
We quickly left the place and only caught our breath at a safe distance. In my mind I already saw the old man snorting, armed with stones, climbing the hill, but apart from the laughter, nothing followed us any more.
At a red rock, where a tiny stream trickled down, which was covered with small colourful flowers, we took a short break to enjoy the landscape. The mountains looked like a painted backdrop in a kitschy Hollywood film. We could have stayed in forever in this place, just looking at it. However, since we still wanted to get at least to the fork in the river, we had to continue immediately as the old man had robbed us of enough time already. As we walked along, the riders we had met by the river the day before came towards us. The pretty little horses with their colourful blankets and the many bells were mesmerizing.
The 10 riders, with their colourful blankets decorated as saddlecloths, one of whom bought our dearly loved donkey from us for 300.
A far too low price. The leader of the horde was already enthusiastic about the deal, just not quite happy with the price. The others keep talking to him until he agrees. Since he didn’t have enough money with him, we followed him to the next village. There we now had to part with large parts of our equipment, because from now on we had to carry everything ourselves and that was on our backs.
The first thing that flew out were the Rudi trousers, which even the most raggedy Tibetan wouldn’t have wanted. The two sacks, the feed, which our donkey hardly gets to enjoy now, my bag, the tarpaulin…. When sorting out our food, everyone screamed + grabbed. It was awful. We had now sold our survival donkey for a ridiculous 300. The good animal, who got a smack in the butt every time it looked at the grass while walking, who was always particularly happy when one of us had to do a poo by the side of the path, as this meant „grass“ time for him.
Oh, he was a lovely brat. After two weeks you get used to such an animal. At night, when we hear him grazing at the edge of the tent, or see how he widens his nostrils when we still sleepily stagger into the cold in the morning. When he then disappeared into the unknown with strangers, a few salty tears rolled down our cheeks. It was a good time, the donkey time, even if we felt like killing him sometimes. I didn’t feel the heavy load of the rucksack that much, I was so engrossed in donkey dreams, but even that passed.
We set up our camp for the night on the edge of a group of houses, because there was a good tree there for Wieland’s rope construction. As soon as the tent was set up, the residents were already there. This time, however, they were rather pleasant. They were quiet and reserved, brought us dry jak dung for the fire that made a horrible smoke and chives for our soup, helped us to boil the water as rain was coming. Even when it started to rain, they worked with bellows and a can of chang.
When the soup was ready, it really started raining. We moved the meal into the tent. Lying down, we sipped down the warm soup.
It started raining so hard that we slurped up the soup while lying in our tiny tent in front of the amazed Tibetans.
The rain, which was getting heavier and heavier, drove away even the most curious ones. After a cosy evening in the tent, a bad night followed. It was pouring rain and it was a freezing cold morning.
Friday August 12th, 1988
We had hardly peeled out of our sleeping bags when we were greeted with hot Cha. Disgusting, but also nice and hot. Such kind sprits may also look curiously. We marched for about
4 hours with full luggage on a narrow path that meandered through fields, villages, rocky deserts, mudslides + small rivers until we reached the bridge. A wire mesh suspension bridge. Since Wieland wanted to film, I had to stay behind. While Wieland was calmly adjusting his camera, I was threatened by a wildly barking dog with horrible fangs. He was almost on my heels when Wieland gave the rescuing sign. At first
I thought the mutt would jump after me, but the swaying bridge must have put him off after all. Carefully + not very quickly, I groped my way across the uncomfortably rushing river. When we got to the road, we stopped for something to eat. After disgusting cookies, I wanted to wash myself.
Ricarda was about to wash her bum when a truck appeared panting. They also wanted to give us a lift.
I had just finished when Wieland yelled: „Hurry, a truck, put your pants on!“ I just had time to slip into my dirtiest jeans when I was already in the truck between hand sweepers and Tibetans. From time to time we got orders, all men get out and push (excluding me).
At a small stop, where we bought two super good saddlebags, there was plenty of Chang. People talked about Pongu and Shentsa. Everyone in Namling seems to know us by now.
No wonder. The streets are getting soaked more and more. Since we have this route from Lapu to Namling in front of our eyes for the third time, we can follow it easily.
It has been pouring quite badly in the last few days. Now we are back in Namling. There’s always someone sitting on the edge of the bed + nosily rummaging through our things. But one is getting relaxed! Hopefully we’ll go to Chasa tomorrow morning, since the road to Jangbajin is impassable because of „Chu“.
Saturday August 13th, 1988
Namling for the third time isn’t exactly exciting. The truck didn’t drive this morning, we were put off until tomorrow and so we’re being lazy.
At the moment there are 6 people crouching in the room and marveling at how Wieland is trying to make a salad dressing from powdered milk and spices. Well, I’m curious as to what’s going on. It didn’t even taste that bad, of course not like one of mother’s salads, but we’re not used to anything good any more anyway. It’s nicer outside under the open sky. Boredom in particular is a new experience. We didn’t even have time to write a diary every day. If we buy something in the shop, the old biddy wants to sell us masses right away, because she thinks we’re kick starting the economy here.
We wrote four letters today. To Nicole, the truth about our donkey story, to Arne we wrote that we are skiing here, to Markus that we let ourselves be driven to a cafe and have been stuck for 3 weeks + to Rudi that we were caught by the police together with the flock of sheep. I would be interested to know if people believe all of our stories.
Tuesday August 16th, 1988
At the moment I’m wrapped up in a sleeping bag and lying in the back of a truck heading to Golmud. It’s raining again and it’s beastly cold. It drips in because the tarpaulin has some larger holes. It jerks and shakes around because people are busy changing a tyre outside.
On Saturday evening we sizzled well-seasoned jak-steaks in a pot, which we refined with a creamy sauce made from powdered milk, which was not entirely successful.
Monday morning it started. Around 10 a.m. all the passengers stood at the market stall and waited. After about 1 hour the truck came.
The whole market got into an uproar, about 30 men rushed chaotically with luggage onto the loading area, we were right in the middle. When we thought we had found a cosy spot, another 10 people came, it was overcrowded, everyone was sitting on top of and one below the other. Hellish!
It looked something like this: between flour sacks, shoe bags, bedding + other luggage, 40 people were sitting more on top of each other than next to each other. We were so crammed on all sides that we could hardly move.
Across from us sat 6 expedition freaks, one of whom we knew from our first Namling stay. In their colourful, ultra-modern, expensive jackets and caps, they just looked awkward next to the grubby Tibetans. They came from a Tibet-China-Japan expedition. Beside him sat a fat old quail whose jacket was so tight that the buttons were about to burst off. Since she was also affected by herpes simplex, she tried to hide it under a face mask.
Next to us sat two redheads with enormous headdresses, who we already knew from their visits to the hotel. One sang a lot of the time + the other kept pushing. In the middle sat two mothers with their brats, which in between were freshly swaddled + suckled.
Then there was the Chinese with an umbrella and bags, which seemed very sacred to him. Everyone laughed at him, and so it happened that somehow he always found himself in the most uncomfortable place of all.
We started with creaks and groans. The first stop came after 2 hours.
Wednesday August 17th, 1988
The hold full of cheerfully chatting Tibetans, mostly laughing at the Chinese, who had hung his umbrella from the ceiling, which, however, fell straight on his head during the jerky ride. The poor guy turned into a public amusement. Because of the bad road, and people getting off all the time, we were only arriving outside of Lapu at around 2pm, where we got into a police check. The police officers, cool in trench + high-heeled boots, were looking for a conversation. However, the whole thing seemed without any plan and I immediately thought that this activity would last a long time. In the meantime we got out + were invited by our expedition friends to have fried bread + Chang. After a long search, the police finally found something. The two redheads were the culprits. After a long discussion and a fine, we were able to continue on our way.
Boom! We were stuck in a creek, all out, pushing, digging out, getting in again. Being a truck driver is not such an easy job as it is at home. Here they’re not fat slobs, they’re fit, lean guys who are always on the move. Because of the shaking and the rather uncomfortable, narrow seating position, sleep was out of the question. So we sat on our backpacks, which shrank more and more. We looked at the landscape as much as possible.
In the afternoon we drove over the first pass and it got colder and colder as dusk fell. In the meantime, we sat huddled together in Tschuba with rain caps on our luggage. Now sitting on top of each other had a warming advantage. The old man on the right had his head on my shoulder. Wieland his on my arm. The girl in front of me lay on my lap and the boy next to me clutched my lower leg.
Crossing the second pass, it was snowing outside. After crossing, the truck stopped unexpectedly, a large mud hole, in which others had already got stuck, prevented the following trucks from continuing. It was now 11 o’clock and quite cold. Tiny little me crouched in the middle of the lice infected neighbours in my chuba. I couldn’t have endured it like this until the next morning.
There was only one thing, tent out + off into the cold. It was icy, in the dark we could vaguely make out the snow mountains, which were now within reach. The ground was damp and therefore not exactly warming. Very provisionally, we only strapped the open end to the truck + draped the rest over us to protect against moisture and heat retention. There I was lying on the now damp sleeping mat, packed into jeans, shirt, thick sweater, rain jacket + 2 tschambas and was still miserably cold. No wonder, who is so crazy and spends the night outside in wintry temperatures. Wintry temperatures? it’s midsummer!
Our driver thought something similar. He had heard us fumbling in front of his door and thought, what they can do, I can do for a just as well. However, incomprehensible to me, he was only lying close to us with a blanket. As I lay there freezing under all that stuff, the strangest thoughts came to me. What if another truck came and passed ours? Our puny tent would certainly not catch his eye.
Deepened in such horrible thoughts, I finally fell asleep, albeit very unruly. The morning was freezing. Surrounded by snowy mountains and working Tibetans, we peeled off our sleeping bags.
Then we started with groans and moans. The first stop came after two hours, the police, who searched everything without a plan. Well, two redheads had taken something forbidden and had to pay a fine. The truck often got stuck, so everyone had to get out and push or repair the road. Then we went back to the loading area in a frantic rush to find a place to sit. It was cruel.
At 6 p.m. there was a break, where we were invited to eat by the expedition team. Eggs, boiled meat and bread. It was wonderful.
The drive continued through half the night until a stop came because there was a huge mud hole in front of us. A truck sitting down to the axle in the mud. Two trucks were waiting in front of and behind them, between them was a petrol fire, where I was invited to bread, apples and tea.
Ricarda stayed in the truck freezing. When I came back after half an hour (we were sitting just behind a pass and just below the snow line), I looked into the truck and saw the guys lying on top of each other and thought to myself, I can never sleep there. So we took our sleeping bag + tent, dragged Ricarda out, laid out the sleeping mats, put the sleeping bag on top and tied the tent over it. It was quite cold, but I still slept. The truck driver also lay there afterwards. In the morning we continued with a lot of clamour after a fully loaded old truck had pulled us through the mud hole.
We went on to Yangbaijing, where we chucked our things off and ate well there. After some doubts, after 2 hours, we found a truck to Golmud, and made ourselves comfortable on the back of it.
Terribly cold + the thought of that awful, uncomfortable ride….there wasn’t that much time left though. With all strong hands on hand, a Tibetan truck coming the other way was pulled around the mud hole accompanied by loud hoots and hollers. They rejoiced like the “snow kings”.
Our truck, newer + lighter loaded, easily made the detour. Nobody paid any attention to the three Chinese trucks. Let’s continue. One of the redheads didn’t even peel out of his ‚bed‘ + the Chines looked like he had frozen the night more than I had.
We had to get out again because the road was too narrow. The river had washed it away + on the other side it was limited by a little wall. The little wall was removed in no time. After about 3 hours we reached Yanbaijin. Once there, there was something really tasty to eat, for the first time in 2 ½ weeks. In between I was offered rancid butter to pamper my crumbly skin.
Meanwhile we thought, why actually go back to Lhasa? So the backpacks & foodybags were unloaded + we were back on the street. I forgot that the night before we were invited to dinner by our expedition freaks. I guess they couldn’t stand the sight of us gnawing on our radishes. They had everything with them and we nibbled dutifully with them.
We had to wait a while before we found a truck for 60 per person. Because of the waiting, Wieland had already reached the point where he regretted not having returned to Lhasa + toyed with the idea of hitchhiking there. After a good lunch, we sat or lay comfortably in the truck. On mattresses, sacks of flour, it was extraordinarily comfortable. Unfortunately, this freight was removed after 2 hours by a Tibetan travelling with us. He had destined the cosy stuff for his village and wouldn’t even let us have the mattresses. So we unpacked our sleeping bags and tried to set up a comfortable camp.
We stopped around 6 o’clock. We had reached Nagu, where the first overnight stay was to take place. Our driver thought that we would have to spend the night in the truck anyway, so we made our way to the market where a festival with horse races was to take place. The market was enormous, one tent next to the other. Unfortunately, the race was already over. Everywhere, festively decorated Tibetans danced + sang. Some horses were still being driven wildly through the area, but you couldn’t really call it a race. However, the remaining guys were lovely to look at. Wrapped in silk, embroidered chubas, which were trimmed with precious furs, enormous red hairpieces were attached with silver clips + modern, partly mirrored sunglasses.
It looked amazing. The women wore floor-length Tschubas made of brightly coloured brocade, also with skins. The hands were warmed by a muff, the hair was braided into small plaits and adorned with silver and turquoise beads. Some also had enormous pieces of silver in their hair that reached almost to their feet. Otherwise they were hung with other jewellery, such as belts, bracelets and chains. It just looked crazy. We took plenty of photos and soon had a photo-shy pack around us. They laughed heartily when they saw Wieland in his Tschuba. Some started calling + plucking to set them up properly. We had a lot of fun catching a shot of for example “Tiger mane”, who was always slouching around us, but always hid as soon as the lens came close. We tried all sorts of tricks, but the good guy saw through almost all of them.
As dusk fell, we thought maybe we’d check on our truck as we weren’t sure if it would be where we left it. On the way we bought melons, quails eggs, plums and gooseberries in jars as provisions. Equipped with 3 bottles of beer, we reached the vehicle, which luckily was still in the deserted parking place. As soon as we got in, our driver appeared to park the truck in a safe area. Well, he was waiting for us. We were then invited by him and a few of his friends to a beer in a small booth. There we learned that they were all between 20 and 28 years old.
Two were students trying to use their sparse, rather incomprehensible, English. It was quite funny, they didn’t believe us at all that we were siblings. One of the students had a head bandage and explained to us that he had suffered a serious head injury during the China-India war. Now he was unfit for duty + had decided to study. As a farewell, so that it wouldn’t get too cold for us on the truck, we had rice schnapps.
The first sip is disgusting. In the truck we prepared our camp for the night. With three candles it was light and cosy. A head peeked in, the two students climbed up with rice liquor + we started a little party. In between there was a little mishap.
Cheerfully toasting we ignored the candles, a tarpaulin caught fire and it started to blaze a little. The Indian fighter doused the fire just in time. However, it had left a larger hole in the tarpaulin. The two indicated to us that they hadn’t seen anything + that we shouldn’t say anything, otherwise the driver would become quite unpleasant. The rice schnapps was wonderfully warming. Around 2:30 a.m. our friends left us and we tried to cuddle into our sleeping bags, which Wieland found difficult because he was quite drunk. During the night he made a huge fuss because he wasn’t quite with it. In the morning at 7-8 o’clock we continued on our way.
The next day we continued early in the morning and after 1½ days lounging around in our sleeping bags, we arrived in sunny Golmud.
That was “the” freezing Tuesday. When we did nothing else all day but lie there wrapped up + stare at the holes. I often thought back to our beautiful donkey days. Us, for example, marched off from Lapu, we three invalids. The donkey was therefore stalking, because his legs were probably still a bit stiff + his back probably still hurt a bit. My heel hurt, like it did every morning or after a rest. Wieland was limping because his feet were covered with blisters. It was crazy and when we find ourselves here in Golmud among all the tourists, I could scream. We need to get away from these idiots as soon as possible.
Back to Tuesday. Nothing exciting actually happened. I couldn’t eat anything because I felt nauseous every time I sat up. Well, sleeping was out of the question, it was rumbling all the time anyway. In between, we were roughly catapulted up into the air, only to hit the ground hard again immediately afterwards. So we were not exactly spared from bruises. With such a bump, it also happened that our mirabelle plum jar jumped so high that it shattered with a bang + all the fruit rolled through the wagon.
Around 2 o’clock in the night, we suddenly stopped + and our driver prepared his camp for the night next to us. It is incomprehensible how he managed to survive half-naked with only a thin blanket in this thin shirt without freezing to death. For them, these temperatures may be midsummer, but outside it was actually freezing. There was a great commotion outside, some action involving many people, but we couldn’t make out anything definitively.
In the morning, as a small business side-line, about 10 rough, tanned faces got in. After about 3 hours we arrived in Golmud. First of all we packed up all our dirty stuff, which we had scattered well over the three days. Our faces also resembled quite a bit those of the snotty noses. After we had said goodbye, we were shown where to find a place to sleep. We started with all our luggage.
After a few minutes we stopped again to eat something. In a small restaurant we stuffed our stomachs full. Before Wieland had the great idea of getting a haircut for 3, I bought a handful of the tiny, really sour grapes. Well, Wieland’s new hairstyle is the one worn commonly and even the elderly in Tibet. A pot cut and everything below shaved to the skin. (today 2023 very modern) shaving was done with a long knife. It looks ridiculously stupid. The two „hairdressers“ could hardly believe it when we explained the hairstyle to them. They hardly dared to shave the wool off his head. Laughing, they looked at me questioningly, I just shrugged their shoulders. This was just too much for her. The Chinese, who was being worked on in the next chair, just looked very confused + probably secretly hoping that they would never raze him like that. Laughing, we continued down the endlessly long road.
While we didn’t mind walking, the backpack was heavy + uncomfortable + the road was dusty + uninteresting. It’s hard to believe how ugly Golmund is.
We stopped in front of a horrible, anonymous hotel. Suddenly it was time to pay TEL again, so there was a three-bed room for us, where we could spread out. When we were standing dirty + dishevelled at the reception, a cyclist came up to us and asked where we were from. He wanted information about the „highway“ to Lhasa. At the market we first feasted on a big melon + took two more with us. There were also plums + corn on the cob.
We stuffed our guts so full of yoghurt that we got stomachache.
At a yoghurt stand, we sipped together, to everyone’s amazement, 5 super delicious yoghurts, and afterwards we lay on the bed to the bursting point, whining. When the cyclist came, he said he was cycling around the world. He is a professor of physics. From 1980-82 he cycled all over South America from Boston and started this year again. He’s been on the road for seven weeks now + has had some good stories.
He cycled from Hong Kong right across China to Golmud, now he wants to continue to Lhasa-Katmandu-Delhi-Pakistan-Europe. It was great to share experiences. The other travellers are all totally boring. It was great to share experiences. We already want to get away from civilization again, even though the food here is crazy good.
He was quite impressed by our donkey story, but said, to my horror, that all donkeys are ugly. Well, he hasn’t seen our magnificent specimen yet, such a super donkey…
After a warm shower, which we had to fight for, the skin, now free of the dirt coating and able to breathe, felt quite comfortable. Our professor talked us in to having dinner with him. It was very interesting. He theoretically develops theories about a laser, which does not yet exist, which can change metals. Either he’ll have a name at some point, or he’ll be laughed about. The military is trying to get him, but he doesn’t want to, despite three times the salary. After a good meal, we went to our soft beds + I slept wonderfully.
Thursday August 18th, 1988
At breakfast, banana cake + yoghurt, we overheard two French people who were desperate that they couldn’t get to Lhasa, and now wanting to sneak in undercover. It was the familiar face of the Chinese-speaking French girl + the imported friend who doesn’t understand anything. They seriously talked about dressing up in Chinese garb + makeup the next day.
Wonderful, that’s about the same as when a black man tries to slip through as a Caucasian using white clown paint. We had great fun. We no longer have this problem. Otherwise, we stuffed ourselves with fruit + yoghurt all day long. We bought a bus ticket through a Japanese fellow for 18 RUB for tomorrow 7 o’clock to Dunchuang.
We had our survival shoes repaired by a seamstress, which now look even more survivable with the thick leather patches. The seamstress was difficult to deal with, hard methods had to be used + afterwards she didn’t want to hand over the change. But it was fun playing billiards, more like cross-country billiards I realized that I can’t do it at all, well, and because it’s nice, there was a yoghurt.
We had a seamstress patch up our survival boots with thick leather patches and they now look even more survivalisitc. The seamstress was difficult to negotiate with, some tough negotiations methods had to be deployed and afterwards she didn’t want to part with the change. But it was fun at the snooker, which was more off road snooker, and I realised my severe lack of skill. And because it’s so nice, we had another yoghourt. Now we’re lying here by candlelight because the enormous neon light is just too uncomfortable, gorging on fruit that’s too heavy to lug around for tomorrow. At the market we also got a piece or actually a proper chunk of cooked, well-seasoned, dark meat, which looks a bit dusty, although that doesn’t bother us much.
By the way, this is written with my new James Bond survival pen. Well, a pen with a built-in gun, when I pull the little lever, a knife comes out. Jealous hey! And getting up at 6 tomorrow, terrible…
Monday August 22nd, 1988
Well done, tomorrow we’ll be riding the bus again for a good 40h, when we’ve only just had 18h of annoying train travel on the “Hardgrounder” behind us. I could scream, especially since we nearly got a plane ticket. It sucks, but what doesn’t kill you makes you hard! Bravo! After this trip I’m super hard. First of all, we haven’t had a mammoth tour of 40 hours yet, so it’s even more terrible than up to now and to get to Kaxgar it’s another 3-4 days of bus travel. After yesterday + today, I’m starting to hate these crap-people + country.
Then I had a big row with Wieland. He freaked out and almost hit me, I don’t find that funny any more + got angry. If he ever hits me and it’s possible, I’ll pack my things + go to Karachi by myself. Yes, I’m serious, I don’t put up with everything, but at some point I’ve had enough, because the chap doesn’t even apologize, not even when he intentionally knocked the contact lens out of my hand in Golmud. Well enough of that.
Let’s start with the nasty Friday. As already mentioned, I was woken up rudely at 6 a.m. + I went to the bus. Our friend with the Tibetan shoes was also present.
The landscape was very interesting. Partly desolate steppe, in the background mountains with snow peaks and then suddenly, in stark contrast, the road was bordered with sand dunes.
Soft and flowing, in contrast to the sharp peaks of the mountains. Our lunch was enviable, boiled meat, nibbles + melon. We caught a few jealous looks. Our neighbours couldn’t resist and unpacked the same food. Next to us were two hongkongs, damn cool but camp as hell. After finally 12 hours we finally arrived in Dunhuang.
Directly opposite we found a dormitory for 10 Remmbi. We made a big fuss about being robbed. Well, then it was off to the streets. Dunhuang is an ancient oasis town. During the Silk Road era, Dunhuang was one of the most popular rest stops on the route. We bought really delicious melons, grapes + pears, but like all Chinese cities, it’s ugly.
At a small bus station we bought a ticket to some mountain. We wanted to be surprised. Packed with tourists, the bus drove down the straight street in the golden sunlight. At the end, it was worse than expected. Not just stalls with melons + rolls, but caravans of camels that carry the fat-bags along part of the sand dunes that can be found here, then they swarm like ants panting up a large dune to enjoy the view on top in a throng. It was unbearable. With our saddlebag on our backs, we laboriously scaled another dune. Photos + film must have gone very well in this light, better than any Levi’s advertisement.
Unfortunately, the camera died + we couldn’t take as many photos as we had planned. A pity. When we got to the top, we ate a watermelon so big, my stomach was full to bursting. Since we couldn’t eat any more, we offered something to two approaching Chinese students. They grabbed it happily. They proudly told us that they were on vacation and were spending 300 yuan for 2 months. shhh! We had a lot of fun running down the dunes with the two of them. The two then rode away on their bikes. We had to walk because there were no more buses. Since we’re used to hiking, it wasn’t difficult for us.
Flux stuck his thumb out and caught a truck back to our hotel.
We fell into a deep sleep. The ticket for the great Buddha cave calls in the morning, but we let it go because we couldn’t stand this mass tourism. We can watch it better on the video, comfortably, without hectic tourists.
After a good, super comfortable night’s sleep, we went fruit hunting to get our stomachs to burst again. Because we were totally exhausted, we slept for a while and then, by chance, watched a kung fu practice lesson. It was still novices who managed amazing whirls with imitations of ancient Chinese weapons. Our friend Rudi would certainly have been thrilled. There was another tea, tea with lychees, dried raisins, apples and peaches. We lay about for at least 2 hours and nibbled on some delicious kernels. Towards evening we sat eating melons at a gate where tickets were sold for something.
After uncertain question + answer, we decided to enjoy what ever it was for 50 Mao and just have a look at it. First up were the fighters from earlier in silly silk suits in front of judges that scored them. It was amusing, but after that it became almost embarrassing as it turned into a boxing match with judges. Wrapped up and protected, they got down to business with punches + whirling kicks. Whenever things started to get exciting, this daft referee stepped in. But it was great fun.
Sunday morning, we journeyed 3 ½ hours to Luiyuan by bus. On the way, a Chinese, who spoke English well, chewed off my ear, but was quite friendly, because the chap came in handy for the train ticket.
In Luiyuan he organised this for 15. Some crack pot Austrians paid 59 FEC together because of their stupidity, their own fault. After pasta, raisins + melon, we boarded the train at around 2pm. Our hope of getting a sleeper place was soon dashed because we didn’t even get a crummy seat. In the hardsleeper, the beds were occupied by whole families.
So we sat uncomfortably between two wagons on the hard floor. It was a joyful thought to spend 18 hours in this position. Thank goodness, we sat right next to the hot water tank, so the Chinese kept pushing past us to fill their enormous mugs or bowls.
After 6 hours we reached a larger train station. In the naïve hope of being able to get a seat now, we left our position + simply sat down on a free seat in the compartment. Wieland was turfed straight back out into the corridor. I sat for a full 5 minutes until an hag with a brat came up and started yelling. At first it didn’t bother me, but the old woman became more and more uncomfortable + screamed around so loudly + waved her hand until the whole compartment was noisy.
The passing conductor was not interested in the whole thing. A nearby rabbity Chinese who understood a „little English“ was supposed to translate the commotion for me, but instead asked me completely different things that were more interesting to him. Then old hag then started to shove me obsessively, so that I had had enough and gave up. I wanted to stand there for the rest of the time rather than arguing with these unfriendly crap people. As I stood resentfully in the narrow aisle, a couple of guys took pity on sitting together (the 1% friendlier than the crap people) to give me some space.
Compared to this, our hard floor had been more comfortable. The people ran back and forth and back and forth in the completely overcrowded train. You need nerves of steel. I thought I’d never make it through this. I could have jumped up and smacked the fat bag. It was terrible. We packed our things together + went back to the area between the coaches, which was constantly shifting back and forth at every curve. There, we tried to make ourselves as comfortable as possible. It wasn’t easy.
The hours passed slowly, literally creeping by. The door to the hot water tank was closed + the people calmed down a bit. It took a while for them to get it. Some were not getting it at all, but it became more bearable, except that a fat tub sat down next to us. A disgusting smell wafted from the toilet. Wieland had falls asleep on me. I was constantly being squeezed, pulled, pressed, stretched, bent + in between the whole crew marched back and forth. It was an awful ride. Around 5 o’clock I was startled by the knocking of the hot water customers. Shortly thereafter, the swamp crank had to flatten the path with her wagon. Around 7am, the train was still hopelessly crowded.
Since only people got on, the fat tub then had to work with her mop. All the filth, which was extremely disgusting, was soaked up and spread around thoroughly, so that our backpacks inevitably ended up right in the thick of it. The tub had to sweep up with her mop in the midst of the crowd. Not that they’re waiting on the station platform, but in the middle of the crowd, fabulous! There was great relief as we exited the gruesome, torture-like train. The crowds leaving the train were unbelievable. With rabbit following us closely, we left the station. Urumgui (Ürumqi City of the People’s Republic of China) is really as ugly as described.
With rabbit helping us a little, we looked for a hotel, and we were joined by a stupid American who is on his way to Kathmandu via Kaxgar. Well, the first chosen Chinese hotel didn’t accept us. Keep walking, the second one was extremely posh, walk back, take the bus, the third one had no more rooms, but this time we didn’t let ourselves be scared away.
We persevered.
Thursday August 25th, 1988
After a girl suggested that we put our luggage by her bed, we started our campaign to trade in our kit! As a poor, dirty, unkempt girl, I traded with a couple of stupid Germans. Shortly thereafter we met a fat American woman who sent us to another room. When we told of our donkey story there, two Frenchmen looked at us with interest. We learned that they too wanted to go through China with a donkey. But after 50 km they were stopped by the police + sent back.
René has been on the road for 17 months, walking from Paris to Beijing, respect. Lucien, who met him in Egypt, has been joining since Islamabad. We got on like a house on fire right away. After we got two beds with her help, we went to eat. It was incredibly interesting. We have a good address in Pakistan + one in Egypt for the winter. Lucien is very nice, we had a wonderful chat while eating panda ice cream. She left everything behind for this 8 month journey + René.
On May 1st, 1989 at 12 noon below the Eiffel Tower we plan to see each other again. Well, so donkey people understand each other directly. After good food + pandas, we went to the CAAC, which had a lunch break. We spent the time with kebab + warm flat-bred. Delicious! At 16:30 at CAAC we weren’t the only ones who wanted a flight, well + then the lame Chinese.
We waited for hours. There was no progress to be seen. An Australian fat tub said she got a ticket through CITS. Let’s go there, just „meo meo“. Well, back as soon as possible, but some Brits had already grabbed the last tickets to Axon before us. Great, 40h bus it is. 3 minutes before the counter closes, we finally got two more tickets for the next day. In the evening we rambled on with Lucien until 3 a.m. A delicious cheese is waiting for the two of them in Kaxgar, but they can’t get there any more.
At 10 a.m. we were on the bus. First in a row of four, where there is only space for 3. We complained and the Dad sat down somewhere else. Well, nothing really happened on Tuesday. Uncomfortably and cramped we drove until 10 o’clock. We checked into an ugly hotel in Korla. There we had best kebab ever, with a lot of Garlic. So wonderful, I could hardly stop myself. After that, Wieland grabbed a goat’s head soup, it didn’t taste bad, but I don’t have to have it every day. In the „hotel“ we still watched the Olympic Games, something from the big, wide world again.
We went on at 8 a.m. in the morning. The landscape isn’t all that ugly. This wasteland fascinates me somehow. It’s crazy, as far as you can see, flat steppe, here and there a tuft of grass, stick your head in the wind + look at the landscape. Something about this desert appealed to me. Maybe it will work out that dad will take me with him sometime. We have a new seat neighbour, a little Muslim, who spread himself out with some box. After the lunch break, the Muslim made a fuss, he wanted to sit by the window. With the help of the other Muslims, the fuss was successfully put down, briefly and painlessly, nipping the evil in the bud, so to speak. Now he’s actually quite nice.
That brings us to Wednesday. Traveling by train all day again. Melons, grapes, kebabs. In the evening there was some trouble in the hotel, first there was a 4 bed room, then suddenly there was, but only with FEC + 2 bed with Remimbi, well and then finally 4 bed for Rub.
We settled our tummies with the help of kidney kebab + grapes. We got envious when we saw that people have their beds right next to the kebab space, that would also be something like a bed next to kebab + grapes. We chatted with our roommates until 1 a.m. A German, unfriendly, conceited bum who is full of himself, and a funny, very nice Dutchwoman. We totally amazed the two of them with donkey stories. Ha ha.
Anyhow, everyone does Basecamp anyway. In the morning we continued, another day of bus travel. At noon there was some trouble, the driver’s license was taken away because someone in Axon wanted to climb out of the window at the crossing.
Our German got really exercised, although we only had to wait 1 hour. Now we’re sitting here in the absolute rat-infested hovel and the guy talks about: „If we travelers….“ him, with his beer belly, the hero with a little girlfriend, who comes to visit him on a package tour in December, crackhead. Wieland came in earlier, 5 bottles in his arms: „Come on, we’re going to get really drunk today“. I took a first sip… orange soda. Too stupid to buy beer… but it was fun.
Tomorrow 7:30 am, another ½ day bus ride.
Saturday August 27th, 1988
KAXGAR
We lie on the beds, stuffed. Monday at 10 a.m. we move on.
Friday morning. The cack bald guy woke us up at 7 a.m. because he though the bus would leave at 7:30 a.m., but it didn’t leave until 8:30 a.m. Panic! Until 3 pm we sat on the bus when Kaxgar came into view.
Kaxgar is located in the Xinjiang Uyghur region of China. A huge oasis, with delicious figs, melons, grapes… With a donkey cart we went to the Seman Hotel. We checked into a dormitory with 30 beds. At the bazaar we stuffed ourselves with vanilla ice cream. The Muslim with motor is already our big friend, kebab + figs.
The bald guy told us importantly that Kaxgar was infected, acute hepatitis A, B + C and cholera severely. Well, and let’s sit down with vanilla ice cream first. In my opinion, that’s not true anyway, because otherwise you wouldn’t let so many tourists in + probably somehow warned, but bald man is an important man. The traveling tourist with his own chopsticks and bedding.
The Muslims are a pretty, jolly people + always ready for little jokes. When we laugh, everyone laughs along in a friendly way. After placing an order for custom made boots, we headed for the shower. Later in the dark, we went to the bazaar again + appeased our vanilla friend. Yes, I now own a velvet cap with a fur rim. We had our fun with a fool’s sheep’s hat. The thing is so ugly that you really had to have it, a real jester’s hat. Back at the bazaar, yoghurt with raisins, figs + ice cream.
We were looking for a suitable hat for Wieland. Everyone wanted to sell us gigantic fur hoods. Nobody wanted to sew me a muff, so I started looking for fur scraps. When I found some, i.e. cap rims that I liked, the trading started. It was divinely fun. Soon all cap dealers were gathered + joined the haggling. Probably all from the same clan, for sure.
After a long time, including a small help action from the survival belt, the deal was done and the hat, which had already been sewn, was torn up again. When buying a glitter hat, I was once again asked „Change money“. When I said „I can change you, I’ll give you a better rate“, everyone laughed + we knew how to joke around with each other. Other than that, nothing really happened. The bald guy upsets us + the other travellers suck. A Dutchman told us that 10 years ago he walked in Sudan with 2 donkeys. Doesn’t sound bad either.
Here in the dormitory there are just 30 beds. The room is huge and the ceiling is incredibly high. The lamp fittings are richly ornate, as are the lamps themselves. The walls are also adorned with decorations. The doors, as well as the large, rounded windows, are open all night. It used to be a great hotel, with its spacious parks and many buildings. Somehow it really hurts to see how everything is rotting away here.
Wednesday August 31st, 1988
GILGIT
5:10 yes, we left the crap Chinese and since 8pm we have been in
PAKISTAN
On Sunday, on the „way“ to the Sunday Market, we were cheated massively. The pig only brought us as far as the bazaar. Having quickly become aware of the mistake, he was gone again + we had to take a new car. There was a crazy crowd at the Sunday Market anyway. Hundreds of donkeys + horse carts on the side of the road. In small backyards there were real donkey + horse parking spaces, where you could park animals and carts for a fee. I don’t think there are as many donkeys in all of Tibet as there are here. Black, grey, old with fuzzy ears, like Methuselah, piebald that look too funny… In between we visited the Tomb. An old British graveyard. Impressive, but again quite touristy. Towards evening we picked up our boots and had them shod with donkey horseshoes. Whether with a donkey or with boots, you go to the same craftsman here. Everyone is bursting with envy at the clicking of our steps! I also bought the matching coat for 30. Terrible, as soon as we come to a big city, we start shopping. Buying honey for the mother was a sticky affair. A couple of vanilla ice cream + minced meat kebabs, brought the day to a close.
On Monday morning we tried to send off our letters, but this was hopeless. By the way, the German moron is also on the bus. The guy talks so much shit that you’ll get completely stupid listening to it. „We Travelers are the forerunners of mass tourism!“ „The plague is raging in Kaxgar, i.e. cholera + hepatitis, I will only survive on canned food“ „A lot of planes go to Pakistan“ CITS just smiled weakly + incredulous. „I’ll hire a jeep, it costs 300 at most.“ „There are 4 buses going to SOST today:“ Probably thinking of a small convoy, the shit-head.
September 1988
Saturday September 3rd, 1988
We lie like bums under a bridge. The “hotel” kicked us out. Wieland has the runs + stomach-ache, a river rushes besides us, into which flow many small manure rivers. Covered with flies and mosquito bites, malaria is calling!
This is how we sit here. A Pakistani sits next to us + wants to help „money problem, I will help you.“
Mondag:
The 10am bus left Kaxgar, the town of kind people, actually left at 1pm. Well, there is not much to tell about such a bus ride. After 2 days on the bus, we had crossed the border and landed in Sost. From there we took a minibus to Gilgit. At first they didn’t want to take us with them, but then they did and we arrived in Gilgit at 4 p.m. or 12 p.m..
On Wednesday morning we first got rid of our letters + thought about what to do. Any ideas were discarded again because we just don’t have enough time and compared to Tibet it will all stink anyway. We even had a donkey on hand again. We then ended up sending our excess luggage to Karachi + just set off walking as we didn’t feel like taking the bus at all.
So on Thursday morning, after a decent breakfast, we packed our luggage, and we had a curious onlooker. Wieland: „We’re used to that.“ When Wieland went to the toilet for a moment, the guy got very nervous, kept pointing to his wallet and made strange gestures that weren’t all that new to me, like shaking hands with the palm of my hand. I didn’t see it all disconcerting + cheerfully continued to pack, since Wieland was already back again. „He’s just nervous!“ A while passed before Wieland disappeared again. I kept packing my backpack diligently until something made me look up. Panting, the Pakistani jerked off in front of me, his eyes shining. I was a little surprised, calmly indicated to him to please leave the room. „Hurry up, please!“ Wieland came into the room unsuspectingly and didn’t really want to believe me until I said: „Careful, otherwise you’ll slip.“ While I called the Tibetans sex-pests more in jest, that really applies here. The chaps all seem to have some pressure on the pipeline.
Now I understand why other girls cover up completely here. Well, we set off anyway. A car kept stopping to ask if we wanted a ride. We marched on undeterred, thirsty from the blistering heat.
Around 5 o’clock we stopped at a brook and enjoyed the biscuits we had bought before. It got dark around 7 p.m. + we looked for a cozy place for the night. It was lovely just lying there + looking at the star-studded sky. We were directly under the Milky Way, with the Big Dipper gleaming to the right and the occasional satellite passing by.
The next morning, bitten by mosquitoes, we continued. After 30 minutes we were joined by two guys who were keen to carry our luggage. We fought them off and decided to continue to the next town. There we were joined by a German-speaking Pakistani who had lived in Germany for 3 years. He talked us into hitching a ride on his truck towards Islamabad. At first it was still comfortable sitting in the brightly decorated truck. Sitting next to me was his slightly crippled cousin, who was extremely helpful at first. However, when his hand was constantly on my knee or my shoulder, and also fumbled busily with the button of my breast pocket, I gave the end signal. With that, the friendliness ended + he fumbled himself constantly between his thin crippled legs while driving. Well fine! So you can imagine that I’m fed up with this country. You are not greeted, simply ignored, referred to as „it“, or fondled wildly.
Wieland said I shouldn’t mind so much. Now it’s my fault again that we didn’t manage better. It’s all pretty easy for him too. Since our driver was behaving a bit suspicious after 13 hours of driving and was getting too attached, we said goodbye and are now sitting under the bridge, homeless, neglected… Well, let’s see how it continues. I would prefer to spend the last 2 weeks comfortably because I can do without too much contact with the local people. Wieland has a different opinion on this + still blames me for my failure in Damxung, which I don’t find fair. But it’s just me, someone has to take the blame!
Sunday September 4th, 1988
We were still under the bridge until 3 a.m. Staring Pakistanis kept coming by, staring at me with their disgusting googly eyes. The disgusting thing is that they don’t look at you directly, but here a head peeks out from between the corncobs, there one behind the stone and one from above from the bridge. You are literally being stalked, which is extremely uncomfortable.
Wednesday September 14th, 1988
In the meantime, apart from minor things, nothing major has happened. For a week I was laid up in different hotels, Beshuen, Mingora, Pescham, Rawalpindi, with fever, stomach cramps + the runs. In Lahore I felt better again. We stayed there in the Dorm, in the Salvation Army Hotel. I have to report one event. The third night, like everyone else, I’m lying on the bed in my underpants + t-shirt to feel at least a breeze from the fan, I wake up in the middle of the night. It was around 3 o’clock. Still very sleepy I move my feet, but immediately pull them back again.
I bumped into something warm, fleshy. Probably the neighbour’s feet, which he lets hang out of bed, so I think. Shortly after I feel a tickle like a fly + I twitch to make it go away. There it is again, but wait, slowly becoming a little more awake, I notice that it can’t be a fly, and besides, my neighbour’s feet could never hang out of the bed long enough for me to touch them. There it comes, I’m scared like hell, right, a small Pakistani is sitting at the end of my bed and is fiddling with my lower legs. In reflex, I throw my pillow at him + scream: Get out!” The guy was also quite frightened and immediately fled. That can’t be true, I think, why always me?
I sneak to Wieland’s bed + ask him if we can swap beds. „Oh, nonsense, you’re crazy, get out, there’s someone else sitting by your bed!“ Well, that’s it. I fall asleep restlessly. Well, something like that has to happen to me all the time. You can just about get over the fact that someone here and there gives you a disgusting bum squeeze + that you are constantly stared at, but at least at night they should leave me alone, they will cause me to have eternal nightmares. I’m really fed up with the people. Can’t make friends with them either, somehow damn unlikeable.
I still have 5 days to get through, I will manage it somehow. I’m definitely happy when I’m back home in safe space and with likeable people! I definitely don’t have to go to Pakistan again!
Much later, as a student, Wieland ate dinner with his aunt and family. A large slice of cheese was cut off with a sharp knife, and very generously the cheese rind too. Wieland picked up the cheese rind that had been put aside and said:
„If we had this tidbit in Tibet, we would have divided it into Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Sat, Sun. When it came to Wednesday, we would have divided this tidbit again in Mon. Tue…“
Letters to „Friends“
Dieter
13.07.1988
Hello dear Dieter,
Contrary to our expectation of having difficulties in getting into what we thought was an untouched piece of land, we had no problems getting to Lhasa, nor was there a lack of individualists. But even here, where the eye can see, high-rise buildings and high-rise buildings, which the attached photo (photo of Hong Kong) proves to you. Our disappointment was great, almost all globetrotters here have the same plans as we do. Well, we’ve been sitting here for 3 days now, pondering and pondering what to do. The only thing that helps against the bad mood are hash parties and alcohol, which are the order of the day here in the skyscrapers, as in Chorweiler and similar satellite towns. The only thing that worries us is that we’re starting to feel comfortable here. The weather awakens feelings of home, rain, coolness, rain. The only difference, you walk out of your skyscraper, puddles, mud + dirt and walkman listening Tibetans. The next party is on.
Grüße Ricarda + Wieland
Chrissi
Hi Chrissi
very embarrassing, very embarrassing (Ricarda writes to me) but he can still talk, at least he can make himself understood. Arriving in China, we immediately felt that individualists are not wanted in Tibet, i.e. ‚there is no way to get in‘. The only option left to us was a package tour. But as you know us, we didn’t take normal ones, but one with Survival inserts. A night without a roof over your head, a day strapped to the back of a jack, authentic Tibetan food…
That’s what it said on a prospectus. But the reality was very different. We got our first shock when we saw our companions: a BBC cameraman, an old quail from France, two married barrels from the USA, an anorexic Japanese man who can’t get himself together + the two of us. Our night under the stars took place on the roof of our hotel. This is due to the fact that, due to constant overcrowding, the roof and room must always be changed. The time on the Jackback was ¼ hour, as the line was too long. Our typical Tibetan meal: A plate studded with cucumbers + tomato slices, a kind of flatbread, on which there is an amazingly interesting mass of meat, which refers both to the appearance and the taste, and a flatbread on top. Sometimes a red mass oozed out. After eating, we accidentally got our hands on the English translation of the menu, it reads JACKBURGER. So far from our survival tour, which still lasts 2 weeks. We’re fine. Grüße an Ricarda, (ich schreibe) Deine Eltern + Deinem Bruder, morgen kommt nämlich die Flußüberquerung.
Ricarda + Wieland
Heike
Shanghai, 14.07.1988
Hey Nurse!
Is it fun? I know I’m mean!
After a week of unsuccessfully trying to get a ticket to Tibet, our whole vacation mood was gone. Individualists are not welcome in Tibet. ‚There is no way to get in, impossible!‘ We had to listen to this for a week. But that’s not the worst of it. I had such a falling out with Wieland that we broke up. He wants to die in Mongolia, where the prospects are similar, if not quite as extreme as in Tibet. Luckily I met two nice French people in Chengdu. One of them, Valery, studied in Shanghai for 1 year. She told me so many positive things that I became curious.
I went to Shanghai with the two of them because Pierre is now also studying there for a year. The people here are incredibly nice + the city is great. Crazy busy + not such bourgeois as in BGL. Since I believe that this year would bring me a lot further, I am seriously considering discarding my previous plans. Simone won’t be thrilled, but she’ll understand. In the end it’s more interesting here than in England + I probably won’t get this chance a second time.
A year sounds long, but I’ll make it. I’ll be home in mid-September. The course does not start until October 7th. See you soon, I’ll see more of China with Pierre + Valery.
Viele Grüße, Ricarda
Beate
Lhasa, den 17.07.1988
Hey, Beate,
…also, uns geht es eigentlich auch ganz gut, nur ist alles etwas anders verlaufen als erwartet. Der Weg nach Tibet war nicht so einfach, somit auch nicht billig. Da wir aber unbedingt nach Lhasa wollten, was wir, wie Du siehst, auch geschafft haben, mussten wir auf dem Schwarzmarkt, unter etwas illegalen Verhältnissen ein Flugticket ersteigern, welches seinen Preis hatte. Unter normalen Verhältnissen kommt man als Individualist nämlich nicht ins Land. Tja, dieses Ticket hat unsere Reisekasse erheblich geschwächt.
Da wir aber noch durch Pakistan müssen, brauchen wir etwas mehr Geld. Durch andere Traveler haben wir einen guten Tipp bekommen. Hier in Lhasa gibt es so eine Art Mc. Donald, d.h. hier gibt es statt Hamburger, Jackburger… Nun arbeiten wir also 6h am Tag in so einem Schnellimbiss + stellen Jackburger zusammen. Man lernt hier jede Menge Leute kennen.
Die Jackburger haben wir jedoch beide leicht über. Die andere Zeit lungern wir in Tempeln herum. Es ist eine Erfahrung wert, was wir hier erleben. Das Wetter ist zeitweise super-schön, zeitweise regnet es in Strömen. Somit haben wir, wenn auch nicht im Essen, wenigstens einige Abwechslung. So, der Job ruft…
Ricarda
Nike
Manila, 17.07.1988
Hey, Nike,
… So, we’re fine, we’re taken care of, just a little differently than planned. It was like this: In Hong Kong it was really great. The first night we stayed at T.H. … We already met a few people there. Among other things, we learned that it is impossible for individualists to enter Tibet. We met some who had just tried. There was no chance at the moment. In the beginning we were ready to try it anyway. After + after we realized that it is hopeless. We sat around dejectedly when suddenly a Dutchman from Amsterdam sat down with us. We tell him our story. He said directly: „Man, be flexible! I have a house in Manila, I invite you, you can stay for a month.” Since we didn’t feel like slit eyes anyway, who were already annoying us in Hong Kong, we booked a ticket to the Philippines flux. Now we’re sitting here in the sun (actually it’s raining cats and dogs), cocktails in hand and thinking about what we’re going to do in 3 weeks. Yesterday we went to a beach disco… witch wrinkled…
Ricarda
Katrin
Lhasa den 13.07.1988
Hey, Katrin,
Well, how was the party on Saturday? Did you have a lot of fun? I suppose it didn’t do much anyway! Well enough of that, there were already 2 lines.
We’re more important now. In Hong Kong it was totally good, in the dormitory in the middle of 6 negroes, the roaring air conditioner on the ear + animal muggy. You would certainly like it in Hong Kong, I was thinking of you, because there is an eternal flea market in the small streets. From the broken faucet to the opium pipe to rooster claws, which by the way don’t taste that bad (if you don’t know). But all in all, despite the reef showers, it’s too sophisticated there. In Chengdu we bought an illegal plane ticket at the black market under mafia conditions. Since individualists are not allowed to go to Lhasa, we had to be flown into Lhasa on a propeller plane, camouflaged in a fruit crate. We also found a cheap hotel there. All the temples here + especially the Potala are impressive. We’ve already had a few Buddhist parties. Here, too, things are still too sophisticated for us. Since, as already mentioned, individuals are unwanted here, we have to disguise ourselves for our further way. Thanks to our Buddhists, we were able to buy a flock of sheep at a reasonable price. Disguised with a Tibetan cloak, a huge hat + stick, we sneak around the police station. Sorry for spelling mistakes + crooked writing, but so far away from the civilization + in the middle of stinking sheep, it’s not all that easy. We have already discovered a type of alcohol, Tibetan beer. The taste is odd, but if you’re stoned forever, you get used to it. I think you can imagine our situation well, although it’s often not amusing at all. You have to make sure all the shitty critters stay together forever. You have to imagine Wieland totally chasing after the sheep with his cloak and stick waving. Well, enough now…
Ricarda