Of Nomads, Yak Butter Tea, the Dalai Lama and High Powered Emotion

During our six-month back-packing trip in 1998, quite remarkably, I kept quite a detailed diary. Even more remarkably, we can understand a lot of my handwriting. It’s been great going over that wonderful trip, much of it seeming quite surreal now. We’ve had the great fortune to have been in the right place at the right time on so many occasions, some of these occasions producing unique experiences. The diary will take a little time to get organised, but in the meantime we’ll present a few little highlights, such as this:

Huge embarrassment led to unique experience

It’s 1998, about five weeks into our six month back-packing trip, and about five days into the mind-boggling, fascinatingly wonderful Tibet visit. Chinese ‘development’ was yet to take fully hold but they were there, as we found out when we tried to enter the grounds of a hotel the army had commandeered.

We had slithered our way in the snow over the 5,000-metre pass, following the tracks of a truck that had earlier carried out the first spring breach of the plain beyond. We’d travelled about seven and a half hours of our eight-hour pot-holed journey via 4WD when Ronald the Dutchman asked the driver to leave the rough stone track and head towards a nomad tent. We had seen a few tents well off the track, but this was close, less than 100 metres away.

We were five travelers; us two Aussies, a Dutch couple and another Aussie bloke, a 747 pilot who worked out of Hong Kong. We’d hired the 4WD and driver from the Yak hotel in Lhasa with the aim of getting to Lake Namtso, the highest, large body of salt water in the world at 4,800m. Or was it the second largest or something or maybe the coldest-looking? Look it up. It’s surrounded by massive ice-bound peaks (over 7,000m) that edge the lake and plain. We were told that there was a monastery where we could stay the night. Ha! More on that, and my near-death experience, another time.

As the driver responded to Ronald’s request I was instantly uncomfortable about intruding on someone’s privacy, looking at them as though they were a zoo oddity.

We emerged from the 4WD and stretched our rough-track battered bodies as a woman emerged from the tent, followed by two young girls, the oldest a teenager. A brief look of surprise, ‘tashi deleks’ all ‘round and a few seconds of gawking at each other with big smiles on our gobs before Ronald the Dutchman walked over towards the woman, maybe said something, then gestured towards the tent, obviously asking to go in.

I was huuugely embarrassed. What a bloody cheek. Drop in out of the blue and disrupt this family’s everyday chores.

The woman lent down a little, grabbed the flap of the tent, and gestured for everyone to come inside.

What!!! Oh dear! I had an urge to race over grab, the tent flap from the woman’s hand and close it and stand with my hand up to my travel mates in STOP!

I’m really glad, save for the obvious acute embarrassment, that I didn’t as the woman was totally unfazed. Clearly far less concerned than me anyway. She urged us to enter her home. So we did.

With all their belongings tucked around the bottom edge of the tent and a fire place surrounded by rocks in the centre, a clear little path around the fire allowed us to find a place to sit down. And we did so most reverently, feeling somewhat honoured to be there. After all, it’s not every day you go to a Tibetan high plain and get invited into a local’s home. We dispersed ourselves regularly around the fire, allowing the woman room to move about.

Tea everyone?

The stocky, squat looking woman, skin darkened and leathered by the sun and, undoubtedly, yak shit dust, indicated that she was making us some tea. Yak butter tea. She rinsed out some Chinese tea cups into a bowl, the palms of her hand clean, the back of her hands well caked with, well, I guess you can guess.

I recall a plunger-style utensil, hot water from a big kettle and something that appeared to be slimy glob, being plopped into the plunger which she churned before pouring the foul smelling (to this non-meat eater) yellowy sludge into the cups and handed them about. I thought ‘damn, how am I going to get out of this?’  Obviously no way, so I threw the revolting stuff down my throat, barely stopping myself from gagging. It was almost overpoweringly revolting. Thinking I’d solved the problem, I quietly placed the cup alongside me in a position I hoped nobody would notice. My timing was less than perfect. Just as I tried to push the cup out of sight behind me, she turned, saw delightedly that I’d drunk the tea, then grabbed my cup and poured another for me.

Seeing that everyone had some tea, she sat, the two girls nearby. Ronald showed them some postcards, which they enjoyed. Then, knowing that images of the Dalai Lama were banned in Tibet, Ronald opened his Lonely Planet travel guide and showed the woman and the kids a small diagram of their religious leader that took up maybe half a page. Not a photo, just an illustration.

Whipping my little 35mm travel camera into action I got off some shots before being overwhelmed by the remarkable emotion that arose. The woman grabbed the book from Ronald and, as the wide-eyed girls watched on, she placed the open book over her head and was quietly and almost frantically whispering away to herself in animated prayer. The overwhelmed girls were totally focused on their mother. As was I, unfortunately, as my shutter finger stopped working.

The tent was filled with emotion you could have cut with a yak butter spatula. We were all pretty much blown away by the experience.

Leaving the mother and daughters in their reverence, we thanked them for their hospitality and quietly made our way from the tent. I wonder what the driver thought his passengers were up to? Not a lot of talk on the remainder of the rocky-road trip to Lake Namtso.

Undoubtedly, it was also quite an experience for the woman and her kids. Oh, the stories they had to tell the man of the tent when he came home.

Above is a patching together of a series of shots I took with my little Olympus 35mm, of Lake Namtso. The ice on the lake was blown up in waves. It was remarkable, especially with the 7,000 metre peaks looming large.

Below- Another stitch-up job. This is just to the left of the lake. Recent stuff I’ve searched about the lake shows basic, but formal living accommodation and a ‘restaurant.’ The only building when we were there was a small rock hut with well used straw mattresses on the earth floor and dust-filled blankets. Nothing more. That was our accommodation. Some locals lived in caves in the rock next to the lake.