A March Journey to 'Makye Ame'
This trip from 2021 is only being recorded from memory in 2022. Chongqing hot pot churned my stomach, Lhasa altitude sickness made me swallow my tears, and the cherry blossoms in Wuxi made me feel like I was dreaming.
It was an unplanned trip. In March 2021, I just wanted to leave Shanghai, anywhere would do. Looking at flight tickets, I chose a destination that was far but had relatively cheap fares — Tibet. Just mentioning the name 'Tibet' evokes a sense of sacredness, like a pure land in the sky where ordinary mortals shouldn't tread. My mom was firmly against me traveling to Tibet alone, hinting she was worried I might not return. Actually, my heart was full of fear too. I went to the pharmacy and bought a few boxes of Rhodiola rosea and some daily medicine, packed my bags, and set off with both fear and anticipation.
I chose to enter Tibet via Chongqing. I stayed at a hotel near Hongyadong. I'm the kind of person who is inwardly quiet yet always ends up in crowds. Amid the bright lights and bustling traffic, those layered riverside houses seemed dreamlike, giving me the feeling of 'I stand on the bridge watching the scenery, yet no one watches me' — a bit self-pitying, haha...
Strolling on the bridge with an umbrella, I gazed from afar at the dazzling Hongyadong area. The skewers I just ate were still churning in my stomach. Speaking of Chongqing, how could you not have its hot pot? Since I was traveling alone, I asked locals for a cheap skewer joint where many locals gather. Chongqing folks were munching skewers, chatting comfortably about everything under the sun — is this the Chongqing lifestyle? I felt nothing but spiciness, so much that the flames bursting in my mouth could probably roast a duck. This set up a hurdle for entering Tibet (my taste buds were wrecked).
The next morning it was still drizzling as I flew to Lhasa. I arrived at 5 p.m., with clear skies and pleasant sunshine. Riding the bus into town, the Potala Palace stood like a painting in the city center, overlooking the entire Lhasa — low-rise, orderly buildings. I hopped off and took a motorcycle taxi to a Tibetan-style hot pot place (Yiyeyishijie Tibetan Tea Vegetarian Hot Pot). I hadn't eaten all day, and by then altitude sickness was gradually setting in.
By nightfall, I couldn't even walk. I lay on the bed half-dead, thinking, 'Am I going to die?' Waves of nausea hit me from time to time... I tossed and turned all night until the sound of dogs barking told me dawn had broken. I had to force myself to leave the hotel. I booked a one-day tour to Jokhang Temple on Ctrip, took a taxi to Barkhor Street — the very spot where Tsangyang Gyatso secretly met Makye Ame. Devout believers endlessly walked the kora, generation after generation, year after year. I sat down on the third floor of the 'Makye Ame' bar, ordered a couple of small dishes, and sipped a cup of tea.
The streets were full of Makye Ame, and I too was caught up in it all... 'I turn the prayer wheels, walk around sacred mountains and lakes, not to earn a better next life, but just to meet you on the way, Makye Ame.'
Leaving Makye Ame, I headed towards the 1,300-year-old Jokhang Temple. The guide led us inside, and I caught a glimpse of the eight-year-old life-sized statue of Sakyamuni through a crack in the door — his eyes were clear, his body radiating golden light, with worshippers crowding around him. Inside the temple hung numerous prayer flags, and monks in red robes moved about. Tibetan Buddhism's four colors — white, red, yellow, black — adorned the building exteriors and the flags.
Since visiting the Potala Palace requires advance ticket reservation, I never truly entered this magical palace. Perhaps it knew I wasn't devout enough, leaving a sense of regret in my heart. I could only walk around the outside, look up to the sky, and say hello to Lhasa!
The third day was my last in Tibet. I booked a one-day tour to Yamdrok Lake. A small van carried six of us from different places, with Tibetan songs playing inside, as we wound our way up to the observation deck over 4,000 meters high at Yamdrok Yumtso. The whole time I was there, I felt like vomiting as soon as I got out of the car; the wind blew straight down my collar and into my stomach. I didn't use my camera at all — my physical state ruined the experience. I left the city with the pain Tibet had given me. Perhaps it was the first and last trip to Tibet, leaving a 'been there, done that' label.
The day after returning to Shanghai, I rushed to Wuxi. Since I hadn't seen the peach blossoms in Nyingchi, Tibet, I couldn't miss the cherry blossoms at Yuantouzhu in Wuxi. With my face still swollen from the plateau, I stood on Changchun Bridge, where the spring breeze caressed my face and cherry petals danced in the air, ending my March journey.
