A March Journey with Makye Ame
My 2021 journey, only recorded from memory in 2022: the hotpot in Chongqing upended my stomach, altitude sickness in Lhasa had me swallowing tears, and the cherry blossoms in Wuxi made me feel like I was in a dream.
This was an unplanned trip. In March 2021, I just wanted to leave Shanghai—anywhere would do. Checking flights, I picked a far-flung destination with a cheap ticket: Tibet. Just the name Tibet evokes a sacred, otherworldly purity, a realm where mortals dare not tread. My mother was dead set against me going alone—she was afraid I’d never come back. Truth be told, I was terrified too. I bought a few boxes of Rhodiola rosea and some basic meds at the pharmacy, packed my bag, and set off with a mix of fear and anticipation.
I chose to enter Tibet via Chongqing and checked into a hotel near Hongyadong. I’m the kind of person who’s quiet inside and doesn’t crowd around. Gazing at the neon lights, the endless traffic, and the layers of riverside buildings that looked dreamlike and unreal, I felt a bit pathetic—like I was on a bridge watching the scenery, with no one watching me. Haha...
Strolling with an umbrella on the bridge, I watched the dazzling Hongyadong from afar, the skewers I’d just eaten still churning in my stomach. When in Chongqing, how can you skip the hotpot? Traveling solo, I asked locals and found a small, cheap skewer joint packed with residents. Chongqing folks were happily picking skewers, chatting away in their dialect—was this the Chongqing way of life? All I could taste was spice, and more spice. The fire exploding in my mouth was fierce enough to roast a duck. This set a hurdle for entering Tibet (my taste buds were wrecked).
The next morning, it was still drizzling. I flew to Lhasa.
I landed in Lhasa at 5 p.m. The sky was clear, sunny and pleasantly warm. I took a bus into the city. The Potala Palace stood like a painting at the heart of Lhasa, overlooking the low, square buildings of the city. After getting off, I hopped on a motorbike taxi to a Tibetan-style hotpot restaurant (One Leaf One World Tibetan Tea Vegetarian Hotpot). I hadn’t eaten all day, and altitude sickness was starting to kick in.
By nightfall, I couldn’t walk. I collapsed on the bed, thinking, “Am I going to die?” Nausea came in waves... I tossed and turned all night, and the barking dogs signaled dawn. I forced myself out of the hotel, booked a one-day Jokhang Temple tour on Ctrip, and took a taxi to Barkhor Street. This was where the Sixth Dalai Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, secretly met Makye Ame. Devout pilgrims endlessly circled the street in devotion, generation after generation, day after day. I sat down on the third floor of the Makye Ame Bar, ordered a couple of side dishes, and had a cup of tea.
The street seemed full of Makye Amis, and I became lost in the feeling...
Circling mountains, waters, and stupas, not for better rebirth,
but to meet you on the path, Makye Ame.
Leaving Makye Ame, I headed toward the 1,300-year-old Jokhang Temple. The guide led us into the main hall. Through a crack in the door, I caught a glimpse of the eight-year-old life-size statue of Shakyamuni Buddha, crowded with worshippers. His eyes were clear, his whole body glowing with golden light. The hall was draped with prayer banners, monks in red robes moving about. Tibetan Buddhism uses four colors—white, red, yellow, and black—seen on the building’s outer walls and the banners.
As the Potala Palace required advance booking, I couldn’t truly enter this marvelous palace. Perhaps it knew I wasn’t devout enough; it left me with a sense of regret. I could only walk around the palace, look skyward, and say, 'Hello, Lhasa!'
Day three was my last in Tibet. I booked a day trip to Yamdrok Lake. A minivan carried six of us from all over, playing Tibetan songs as we wound slowly up the road alongside the lake, reaching the viewing platform at over 4,000 meters at Yamdrok Yumtso.
Throughout the lake visit, every time I got out of the car I’d vomit. The wind blasted down my collar straight to my stomach. I never even used my camera; my condition completely ruined the experience. I left Tibet with the pain it left on me. Perhaps this was my first and last trip to this land, leaving behind the cliché tag: 'I've been there.'
I returned to Shanghai, and the very next day, off to Wuxi. Since I’d missed the peach blossoms in Nyingchi, Tibet, I couldn’t miss the cherry blossoms at Yuantouzhu (Turtle Head Isle) in Wuxi. With my face still swollen from Tibet, I wrapped up my March journey on Changchun Bridge, the spring breeze on my face, cherry blossoms fluttering down.
