Backpacks and Bra Straps (23 page)

A Holy Province
28

W
hen we were ready to see more of Lhasa on Ammon’s twenty-sixth birthday, I asked, “So, what am I missing here? If what you say is true, that Tibet wants to break away from China and be its own country, why are there so many Chinese flags everywhere?” Bold red flags flapped from windows on nearly every story of every house, including the Tibetan part of town where we were staying. I expected to see the streets flooded with beautiful Tibetan flags (colourful blue and red stripes bursting from a bright yellow sun), and bumper stickers reading ‘Free Tibet’, like I’d seen in other parts of the world, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not a Tibetan historian or anything, but it’s looking a lot like Chinese propaganda to me. It’s everywhere,” was Ammon’s answer. “This part of town is obviously the most interesting, though a little depressing when you think that most of the city is now Chinese. Within a very short time, they’ll be finished constructing the railroad. You remember that big one with all the people working on it that we passed on our way here? Well, they’re currently building a route up from Golmud that’s apparently nearly done,” he said without intonation. “After that, everyone will have super easy access to Tibet and the domestic tourists and migrants will flood in, crowding the Tibetans out of their own country and oppressing them even more.”

Despite this, monks and regular Tibetans were busy making their pilgrimages, spinning their hand-held prayer wheels as they walked the streets prayerfully. A Tibetan
ma ni lag ‘khor
is a cylindrical wheel on a spindle that can be made of many different materials: metal, wood, stone, leather, or even coarse cotton. Sizeable wheels are often found within Buddhist monasteries; some of the largest are turned continuously by water mills. The
Om Mani Padme Hum
mantra (meaning, roughly, Praise to the Jewel of the Lotus) is traditionally written on the outside of the prayer ornamentation. It’s believed that spinning it counter-clockwise gives the same effect as reading or reciting the inscriptions, and that simply touching one of these holy wheels helps to offset the risk of bad karma.

We made our way to the magnificent Potala Palace on foot. It was a huge, thirteen-story building with white staircases and dozens of windows with rusty-red accents that loomed over Lhasa on the hillside. Gazing up at it, nestled in a natural bowl surrounded by some of the highest mountains in the world, I was thrilled to think that this was the home of the Dalai Lama.

The more Ammon told me about the religion and the history of the conflict that had occurred there, the more I realized just how little I’d actually known about this renowned place. I was once again struck by how very much more there was to learn.

As we approached the entrance, Bree said, “Look at all the tourists.” They were mainly older people, and most were wearing shorts and hiked-up socks along with bum bags buckled around their waists.

“Bree, shhhh. People can understand you here,” I said, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were still puffy from the nights she’d spent crying, but to all outward appearances, we looked like a healthy, normal, emotionally well-balanced family.

“Why are there never any cute guys? Do they just not travel?” she continued.

“Oh man,” Ammon said. I could see his jaw tighten. “We’re actually lucky enough to be travelling around in Tibet, and all you care about are guys? You are impossible.” He directed his next comment to Mom. “I seriously don’t know why she’s here.” But she just gave him one of her sternest ‘calm down’ looks. He let it go with a somewhat subdued grumble. “There’s no sense even wasting this experience on her.”

“I think most young people go to Thailand and India,” Mom intervened, answering Bree’s question. “And what you see are the people who have the time and who can afford to travel. Retired people.”

“Then why are
we
here?” I asked.

“Because we’re doing it all overland; travelling like the locals do and paying local prices. Most people only go on tour for short periods during holiday times, which is when it’s the most expensive,” Ammon explained. “They just do short trips, and it’s generally quite expensive, because they pay for airfare, nice hotels, and tours. For them, time is more important than money, and for us, money is more important than time.”

“This is definitely the most foreigners we’ve seen in months.” I kept trying to avoid the topic of boys.

“Which means more touts and more beggars, probably the worst of the trip so far,” Mom said as she politely tried to discourage them from selling the things they had obviously decided she needed. From our perspective, being attacked from every direction by beggars seriously detracted from the area’s holy vibe. There was no chance for a moment’s solitude when ladies harassed us to buy prayer beads and wheels, Coca-Cola, and postcards. Somehow, these items just didn’t seem to mesh with the area’s historical ambience, but, ironically, I knew it was because of tourists like us that these westernized products had been introduced. The touts literally shoved souvenirs into our hands and refused to take them back, pulling at our arms and insisting we buy. All we wanted was some peace and quiet so we could reflect on the spiritual aspects of this unique setting.

I quickly tossed a fridge magnet back into its owner’s pocket and bolted out of reach.
Where would I put something like that? We don’t even have a refrigerator, for goodness sake, and my backpack is heavy enough already.

“I dunno about this being the worst we’ve seen, Mom. Beijing was pretty bad,” I said, remembering all the children and women who had wheeled themselves around on skateboards to showcase their missing limbs and pull at our pant cuffs for money.

“True, but here they’re a lot more aggressive,” Bree said.

Ammon nodded. “We need the practice for India, anyway, so it’s all good.”

“I guess so.” I placed the latest trinket that had been forced on me on the ground, only to have another immediately shoved in my face.

“You know what else I’m seeing a lot of? Ra-Whaaa!” Ammon jumped as a furry creature scurried past him and up the staircase crammed between two buildings. “Rats. They’re everywhere. For the record, Lhasa has the most rats openly running around than any other place I’ve seen.”

“But the strange thing about that is that it really isn’t that much dirtier here,” Mom observed.

“Yeah, but remember Kyrgyzstan? Bishkek and Osh were also pretty bad, with lots of big fat ones roaming the streets,” Bree reminded us.

We anxiously anticipated entering the famous Potala Palace where the Dalai Lama had once reigned.

“The fourteenth and current Dalai Lama was forced to flee during the Tibetan uprising half a century ago. He’s been hiding out in India ever since,” Ammon said. “Perhaps it’s his absence – I can’t quite pinpoint it – but something is definitely missing here without him.” This had been his residence for three-hundred-and-fifty years, making my homesickness seem completely minuscule in comparison. I wondered when the Dalai Lama had last been home. From the inside, it looked like many of the Buddhist monasteries we’d already seen, with tapestries, smokey incense, half burned candles with wax dripping down the wooden holders and colourful paintings. It was quite dimly lit within, and we quickly got lost. With its thousand rooms, ten thousand shrines, and about two hundred thousand statues, it was overwhelming and felt very much like a maze.

Taking pictures wasn’t allowed within the palace, but Mom was always busy snapping hidden shots. Her cuteness and dainty figure could be deceiving; she’s actually quite the rebel in some respects, just not a very obvious one. She clearly enjoyed breaking the rules, and was usually the first to hop a ‘do not cross’ barrier, but her generally straight-laced nature and appearance seriously contradicted this sort of behaviour.

As we entered the West Chapel, which contains five of the eight tombs in the palace, Ammon said, “So, some quick background info. You know about the Buddhist belief in reincarnation, right? Beginning from the time of the fifth Dalai Lama, who started constructing this palace, each of these tombs contains a body from one of his separate lifetimes.” The central masterpiece was a whopping 14.85-metre-high stupa (49 ft). Its 3,628 kilo (8,000 lb) solid gold casement, lavished with eighteen thousand, five hundred pearls and semi-precious stones, holds the mummified body of the fifth Dalai Lama.

“I wonder how they felt when they looked at their former selves’ tombs, considering that he was all of these guys,” Bree said, walking around the big, gaudy tombs.

“So, it’s like, would he remember himself and what he did before? And if he doesn’t, how weird would it be to be able to read about your former selves,” I said.

“I guess it would be the same as the day after getting really drunk and not remembering what you did the night before, not that I can really relate to that,” Ammon said.

“Do you think he’d know about his future self?”

Ammon considered. “I’m not sure how that works, but the current Holiness has suggested he may be the last, or that the next could possibly be a woman.”

“Imagine that. It’s great to see them being so open-minded in that respect,” Mom said.

“I wonder how he feels about maybe turning into a woman,” Bree mused.

“Well, I know if I’m reincarnated, I’m coming back as a boy. I’m sick of all those nasty, roadside toilet stops,” I said.

Mom ignored me. “I like that it’s not a royal-blood kind of leadership, and that they really pick someone they feel right about. Think of all those royal inbreeds who went nuts, but there was no way that anyone could deny them their birthright.”

“Yeah, for sure. The present Dalai Lama was born into a poor farmer family.”

“How do they find him? That seems so amazing to me,” Bree said.

“I think it involves a lot of meditation. If he is cremated, they will look to the direction of the smoke for clues about where to search for his young reincarnation,” Ammon said.

“Amazing.”

I was quite surprised at the piles of money everywhere. Bills were spread all over the shiny floor, over-flowing the counters and donation boxes, stuck in the candle wax, stuffed in the edges of the glass surrounding some statues, poking out of cupboards, and stuck on the walls.

“I don’t even know what to do, there’s so much money lying around everywhere,” Bree said. “Seriously, they should be using the money instead of letting it be wasted as wallpaper, or risking the possibility of it being stolen… by me.”

“Breanna!” Mom demanded. “Don’t you even think about it!”

“I won’t. Are you serious? I would never really take the money,” she said, then added with a cheeky smile, “though it is tempting.” Bree’s love of money was well known. As an elementary school student, she’d won all the gymnastics and school fundraiser prizes and awards. When there weren’t any competitions going on, she’d invent and make all kinds of crafts to sell to the kids at school. When money is a factor, she is an all-out go-getter, but I knew she didn’t have it in her to steal. She’s just an extremely hard worker when she puts her mind to it.

“But really, why don’t they take all that money and throw it out the windows to all these beggars outside the gates?” Bree asked. “Or, I don’t know, build them a house, or put them in school, or something?”

Little Miss Unpopular
29

“S
avannah, you’re on blog duty. Just write something, anything,” Ammon said, stepping aside to give me the computer chair in the Internet café, which was just a cramped little attic with a low ceiling passing itself off as a business.

“I don’t want to. All you guys ever care about is the stupid blog. Nobody else cares about it or even reads it.” I was tired of feeling disappointed about how little reaction we got to the blogs I’d put so much energy into writing. Feeling that way coincided with how low our morale had been since the big fight. The storm had calmed, but there were still a few recurring waves of resentment.

“Just write,” Ammon snapped. “I’ve written the last bunch. People want to hear from someone else for a change.” I was still irritated by all the family drama and tired of the fighting and of constantly feeling isolated in so many different ways. I couldn’t figure out why it was so darned important that they had to pressure me, so I sat myself down in the square, metal chair and clicked away at the keyboard.

*** “I just want to quickly add that I feel sorry for any country that’s official language isn’t English, because most of the foreign countries have over-reacted acting and sucky music! I must say that I am Buddha’d out. I have had my share of monasteries in my life time and find no need to see another one!! I don’t particularly enjoy the dim lighting, kindergartener fabric and drawing styles, unrealistic features of the Buddha statues, and clutter of it all. I much prefer the look of Catholic Churches! Rest assured none of us will be converting to Buddhism any time soon!

For interest’s sake…..

- It is quite a task to find shaving cream and the times when we luck out it turns out to be bad quality. (Ammon’s going to be stuck with a beard for a while, sucker)

- Deodorant is impossible to find in China…..and certain (necessary) feminine products!

- Showers are always a surprise. You either get stuck with a lame little dribble, cursed with cold, it may or may not have a door, don’t know if the right or left knob is hot, and sometimes you’ll get a perfectly fine shower (good pressure and hot) that is in the same tiny room with the dirty, Chinese squatty……fun!

- Oh yes, and we’ve also had our variety of good and bad toilet papers. It ranges from recycled cardboard (almost sand paper) to soft like home……the worst being in Russia!

-We’re still paying $2.00–$4.00 a night and they really aren’t as bad as you guys think for being so cheap.

- As for smoking…..We’ve probably lost 5 years of life because they smoke in restaurants, bathrooms, buses, stores etc. etc…….. 24/7 I’ll tell ya. Even, next to me in the Internet cafe at this very moment.

- The beggars are annoying but smart to hang out around all the “rich” tourists!! I think when the kids start coming into the restaurants and taking your food it’s pushing it though!!

I’m looking forward to getting out of China and seeing new surroundings!

Savannah” ***

When I was done, I half expected them to scold me, but all Mom said was, “If that’s how you feel,” and nobody stopped me, or even cautioned me about what I was about to do.
Fine, then.
I pressed the enter key.

While we were in China, we were able to send and receive emails, while other actions were blocked; for example, we weren’t able to view the comments on our blog. I didn’t realize what a hornet’s nest I’d stirred up until I got an email from Sandra a little while after I’d posted my negative comments. Her email simply said, “Don’t listen to people, they are stupid. We love you.” I asked Sandra to forward all the comments posted to me via email so I could monitor what was being said. I was nervous for days afterward, wondering about people’s reactions to my grumpy, inconsiderate writing.

Anonymous #1 said…

*** “Savannah I do not appreciate what you wrote. You are insulting people here, and this is not funny. Your writing is not making any sense. What is “over-reacted” acting and “sucky” music? Why are you out there? To meet people and to appreciate people who are different from you. If you cannot do this, GO home! If you do not know how to respect people and learn from the others, you are not a good friend. And you will not have any! Besides, YOU are not any better than the others, and I can say everyone is better than you.

Read what you wrote again and be considerate! Please know what you are doing and why. Very disappointed after reading this, and I do not think I want to read this site anymore.

I am sorry to say this to you in front of your friends and family, but I am sure I am not the only one who wants to say this. I feel sorry for your parents and friends.” ***

‘Everyone is better than you. You are not a good friend. And you will not have any.
’ I felt like he/she put a curse on me, one I couldn’t afford to have. I already had too few friends. Anonymous is right… I’m not going to have any friends.
‘I feel sorry for your parents and friends.’

Cowering like a scolded pup, I looked at Mom and Ammon, expecting them to join the angry chorus, but they seemed more surprised than angry. I reluctantly read on, though it hurt my heart. I’d never been so harshly scolded by a stranger before.

*** “Take a deep breath Anonymous. Opinions. I know you skipped the age of 15 and being proud and all, but I’m pretty thankful for our toilet paper too. I don’t know about you Grace, but it breaks my heart that someone suffering obvious personal issues with China isn’t going to read this site anymore. Whose site is this anyway?

Say what you want babe but ease up a bit.

Big bro Sky” ***

Anonymous #2 said…

*** “China is not as bad as you think and see if you are willing to spend money to visit the rich countries. My suggestion to your group: Hongkong, Shanghai, and Beijing. Hongkong is very rich and beautiful. You can see people there are different from the rest of the Big China. They are rich and well educated. Almost everyone speaks English and the kids are really smart. Hotels are big and clean BUT expensive. Only thing I hate is the air.

Shanghai, and Beijing are not too bad. Still expensive, but not as expensive. People there are the same as the rest of China, only they are rich and some of them can speak English. I like Shanghai more than Beijing, because of the food.

If you have extra money, you should go to those places. However, small towns in China are beautiful, and people there are really nice.

Savannah, you should be careful with your words, and I agree with anonymous.” ***

*** “Savannah, just to let you know that you are learning and doing great. I am proud of you and love you always.

Someone here obviously doesn’t know you guys well enough! Why take it so serious? This is just a bonding site between friends and family. Keep writing in your own way!

Luv,

Sandra” ***

*** “Anonymous, lighten up. I am not insulted with what Savannah wrote. Her writing makes sense, and it came after I emailed the gang to give us information on the personal amenities of their trip, including the great stuff of which Savannah wrote. I am sure Mag and the gang are appreciating people they are meeting, even if not westernized like us. Savannah, and all of the gang, have a friend in me, and I consider all of them to be as good, or ‘better’ than you seem to imply. If you can’t stand the ‘heat’ (facts), leave the ‘kitchen’ (we-blog). Thank you, Savannah, for the good job you did; you answered my questions just fine. Dr. Jim” ***

I felt like a dog with its tail between its legs. I was shamed and humiliated because I ultimately knew I’d crossed the line. I knew the moment I’d pressed the enter key that I shouldn’t, but I did it anyway. I let those teenage emotions and hormones get away from me, and now I was paying for it.

Though the support I received was comforting, it didn’t diminish the embarrassment I felt. I was hurt. Now I was officially ‘Little Miss Unpopular’. One good thing came from it, though, apart from the loving support I got from family and friends. So many people responded to my post that I no longer had to wonder whether anybody out there was reading about our travel adventures.

A part of me resented the trip that had forced me to forfeit everything I felt was normal. However, another part of me had come to love and appreciate the amazing opportunity I was living. I knew it wasn’t fair to vent my frustration and anger on good people who didn’t deserve it. Perhaps people like me shouldn’t travel if they don’t have the right mindset to begin with. And yet, thinking about it, I had learned a lot, and despite the slip-up on the blog, I did feel I had grown a lot compared to the person I used to be. I’d earned that growth through real physical and emotional hardships, and I let those hardships get to me, as many would.

I was so proud of what we were doing, and despite my initial misgivings, this had become my quest as well. I still didn’t know what the ultimate goal was, but every day seemed to be both an adventure and an accomplishment. For what felt like the first time in my relatively short life, people acknowledged me; I stood out in a positive way. And yet the teenager in me was still angry about the lack of choice I’d had in the matter. At times, I longed to be home with friends, to feel secure and safe. I just wanted to be normal – whatever the heck
that
is.

I was still half-expecting the family to yell at me at some point, but instead Ammon surprised me by posting this the next day.

*** “Hmmm…. Seems Savannah is a little less popular after that last post. As group leader maybe I am to blame. Honestly though, take it for what it really is, the frustrated rantings of a 15 year old that is being dragged around the world against her will. She’s actually been really good and is enjoying and learning a lot. Read her other posts. Besides, an opinion is an opinion and even an open mind doesn’t always accept all it sees. I’d rather have a blog that is honest than one that is politically correct anyway.” ***

My heart swelled to see him take responsibility for his team and defend me, right or wrong. It showed me that we have to support the team even if they go off the rails, feel down, or screw up big time. That’s when team members need to support each other the most and demonstrate their strength and commitment to the group.