Traveling with Manman Joye (Age 6) – Sacred Tibet
I haven't written a travelogue for a long time. I happen to be reading 'The Tibetan Code' recently, and it suddenly reminded me of a journey I haven't written about yet. The pandemic has halted all footsteps. Manman's family responded to all government calls and stayed home for an entire year, without even taking a single day of annual leave. Just before the National Day holiday in 2021, after receiving no-travel-ban notifications from our workplace and local community, we could no longer contain our excitement and finally decided on our destination.
Luzhou Yunlong Airport is very close to home. After work and dinner, we slowly went to check in. By the time we reached the snowy land of Tibet, it was already past midnight. We hadn't expected that Gonggar Airport is nearly 60 kilometers from Lhasa city center.
This time, we brought along grandma and Manman—both 'one old and one young' had never been to the Roof of the World. We had pre-booked a room near Barkhor Street, an oxygen-enriched room with two beds for the four of us. The receptionist at the Jiangsu Guyi Hotel warmly welcomed us. Even though it was almost 2 a.m., she still made a ceremony of presenting each of us with butter tea and a khata, which instantly felt so heartwarming. Fortunately, Lhasa's altitude is not too high. We quickly checked in and rested. The first night, apart from feeling a bit cold, we didn't experience anything special.
The next morning we didn't get up very early. Grandma urged everyone to drink Rhodiola rosea oral liquid every day for psychological comfort. Online guides all said you can't visit the Potala Palace on the first day—first, because the altitude increases by several hundred meters; second, because the palace interiors are crowded and poorly ventilated, making altitude sickness more likely. So we decided to just stroll around the vicinity, explore Barkhor Street, and find some good food. After heading out, Manman complained of a slight headache, so the group walked slowly. The online food recommendations were useless; we found several restaurants that were almost all closed. So we reluctantly entered a local breakfast eatery. Not knowing what to order initially, after some communication we bought two bottles of butter tea, a bowl of noodles, and two flatbreads. The two bottles of butter tea were huge—like mini versions of the old-fashioned hot water thermoses from childhood. The locals around, seeing guests arrive, squeezed together to make room for us. From time to time, a stranger would smile sincerely at you, reach across the table to pour you a bowl of tea, saying words we couldn't understand, and we'd nod in thanks repeatedly.
After a while, we felt embarrassed ourselves, and then we looked around to see whose bowl had no butter tea left. We stood up and went around refilling others' bowls in return. We ate so much we were stuffed. The energy-packed butter tea brought warmth to the entire body, and the high-calorie food effectively reduced the slight headache caused by the high altitude.
The core area of Lhasa is smaller than imagined, and Barkhor Street is just like a traditional pedestrian street in inland China, composed of food, shops, photo studios, and some not-so-familiar former residences of celebrities. For us, this place simply left behind the romantic story of Tsangyang Gyatso.
The most classic place on Barkhor Street is the Jokhang Temple, a sacred site for Buddhists worldwide and the destination for those making prostrations all the way to Lhasa. It is on par with the holy city of Mecca for Islam. In Tibetan Buddhism, it holds the supreme position and is the most splendid existing structure from the Tubo period, built by King Songtsen Gampo. The greatest luck at Jokhang Temple was finding a guide at the entrance by chance. With his extremely detailed explanations and deep cultural knowledge, he vividly brought every sight, object, wall, painting, and Buddha in the temple to life, telling us their past. Along the way, he was very considerate of the feelings and condition of the elderly and child.
After seeing the exquisitely crafted mandalas at the temple's core, the world-renowned twelve-year-old life-size statue of Sakyamuni, consecrated by the Buddha himself, quietly resides in a central room. The room is not open to the public, and countless devotees kneel and chant prayers devoutly at the door.
By some unknown fate, only Manman was invited into the main chamber to feel Sakyamuni's benevolence up close. What exactly happened inside remains unknown; a few minutes later, she came out wearing a yellow khata, holding the prayer wheel she had been playing with, and was told it had been blessed in the presence of Sakyamuni.
After the visit to Jokhang Temple, we lazily basked in the sun on the second-floor balcony. Under the golden shining roof, everything felt empty and free. Several times, the monks around stuffed fruits into Manman's arms.
By the time we left Jokhang Temple, it was nearly dusk. We slowly walked homeward along the prayer wheels that encircle the temple. The altitude acclimatization today was quite good; apart from Manman's mom, the three of us occasionally had a mild headache. In the evening, we found a popular restaurant from online guides, Yangqing Cangzang Restaurant, and had a big feast. Manman's mom even ordered a pot of barley wine.
The oxygen-diffusing room simply blows compressed air into the room. Its effect was merely average; in the wee hours, I inexplicably woke up. In the following days, before bed, we greedily inhaled oxygen for ten minutes and felt we slept much better. Sleeplessness had its upside, though: we were among the first to apply for admission tickets to visit the Potala Palace.
Every angle of the exterior of the Potala Palace is stunning. We went very early in the morning, worrying about being too late. As the sun rose, we came to the side of Medicine King Hill along with a big crowd. We had prepared a 50-yuan note in advance to use its image of the Potala Palace as a backdrop to teach Manman, but we got a reaction that showed she already knew it by heart.
On the big square outside the Potala Palace, ever since the secret of taking reflection photos using water was discovered, the ground has never been dry. It didn't matter if you didn't bring water; you could just wait for the previous group to finish and reuse the water. By the time we remembered and found the entrance queue, the line was already very long. Manman's mom and I queued as usual, letting the elderly and child rest by the flower beds nearby. When we moved far ahead, they would come over and find a new spot to rest.
The exquisite Potala Palace inspires a sense of grandeur. The exhibits and ritual instruments inside are national treasures. The mandalas of the successive Panchen Lamas are not only sacred objects but also irreplicable works of art. Unfortunately, there were too many people, and the guide's explanation was weak; we listened half-understandingly for a while, not quite grasping it, then were pushed forward by the jostling crowd behind. The palace only opens a small portion, and over time, the areas open to visitors have become fewer and fewer. Some things must be left for future generations to admire.
After coming out of the Potala Palace, it was nearly 2 p.m. Since we didn't plan to rush, we leisurely strolled around the area, looking for a couple of good places to eat some local specialties. Following navigation, we zigzagged to a commercial street, ate until we were bursting, then walked back to the hotel to rest, waiting for evening to arrive.
In the evening, right on time, a handsome young man took us to a mountain across the river, where the open-air live performance 'Princess Wencheng' takes place. Again, we were early, so we sat on the high steps, watching the sunset glow and the glittering lights of Lhasa in the distance. Manman has always been afraid of loud and thunderous sounds, but this time she persisted and watched the entire show. The plateau is so cold at night.
A friend called, saying they would come back from Shannan to dine with us, but we politely declined. Today, we started another aimless wander. Manman's dad had originally planned a visit to Drepung Monastery to walk on the path that the President had recently taken, but we were deterred by the over-one-hour mountain climb. Manman's mom wanted to visit the Ramoche Temple to see another statue of Sakyamuni, so we strolled through the city. At a bustling street corner, we spotted Ramoche Temple. A few laypeople wandered around casually, unable to understand the murals or feel the statues' essence, and reluctantly left.
It was still early, and at Manman's mom's insistence, we took a bus directly to Sera Monastery. There was no debating session today, but this top Buddhist college might have a different kind of magic. At the entrance, several local Tibetan young boys warmly greeted us, saying they could guide us and explain things. After agreeing on a price, one boy accompanied us. Along the way, he chatted ceaselessly, explaining every building and structure in detail as we darted through alleys and shortcuts. We first saw the Tantric mandala, then went to the lecture hall, revered the most famous statue, and visited the main assembly hall, greeting many monks along the way.
On the way back, we found a large supermarket to stock up for the next two days' trips. In the evening, as routine, we found a famous local stone-pot Tibetan chicken restaurant, queued for a long time, and drank cup after cup of free sweet tea. At a neighboring shop, I bought a mandala painting. Its mesmerizing violet-blue color was captivating. The young lady said it took her over 30 days to perfectly render those lines with mineral pigments.
The holiday was already halfway through. Today, we arranged for the young man who had driven us to and from the 'Princess Wencheng' show the night before to accompany us for the day. Our route was Yamdrok Lake — Karola Glacier. We thought the distance was short, but we could only see the winding mountain roads at the pass, twisting and turning with a speed limit of 30 km/h. Every so often, we'd stop to rest, which was perfect for photos and getting up close with Tibetan mastiffs. Manman coolly posed with two big dogs. After crossing the pass, it was downhill. In the distance, we saw a crescent of blue moon-like water, so enchanting and mesmerizing. I don't know if it was the color that awed the soul, like an oil painting, using colors more surreal than reality. The closer we got, the more it felt like it melted into the soul, along with the snow-capped mountains faintly emerging in the mist, like a photograph frozen there forever.
By the water, Manman and I built a mani pile, watching the sunlight create a golden shimmering illusion. Fortunately, a white yak nearby occasionally moved, adding a touch of life.
We drove into the Shigatse region, and the melodious tunes automatically came to mind. The driver young man was much better than any online guide, saving us a lot of time and money. Manman reached the highest point of her life so far, an altitude of 5,020 meters. She had a slight headache but no other notable reactions.
Manman's dad and mom headed toward the ice line of the Karola Glacier, which was about 200 meters higher than the base. After wandering around the foot of the mountain, Manman and grandma returned to the car to wait for us. Manman's mom climbed up effortlessly, while Manman's dad panted like an old ox, though his condition was fine; his watch showed a drop in blood oxygen level. We saw a climber nearby suffering severely from altitude sickness, his face ashen with pain, retreating back. Manman's mom wanted to go further, but considering dad as a burden and safety with the approaching dusk, we descended. On the way back, Manman's dad measured his blood oxygen level: it was in the 80s percent, a drop of over ten percentage points. Apart from a mild headache, there was no particular effect. He insisted on not using oxygen, and after about an hour, the level returned to normal.
Descended and went back; we stayed near Lhasa Railway Station and had another meal of specialty spare ribs, a bit too full!
Just before leaving, we had pre-booked tickets on the Sky Road Qinghai-Tibet Railway. The oxygen-enriched carriage had four berths exactly in one compartment; a little world for our family. Listening to the train attendant's introduction, Manman bought two books about the Qinghai-Tibet Railway and Tibetan animals. We waited for the introductions as we passed the stations: from Lhasa — Damxung — Nagqu — Tsonag Lake — Tanggula Mountains — Tuotuo River — Hoh Xil. We watched the Tibetan wild donkeys, Tibetan antelopes, foxes, yaks, and the sacred Tsonag Lake, the snow-capped Tanggula Pass, and the source of the Yangtze River. Along the way, we waited for trains to pass (the Qinghai-Tibet line is a single track). At one station, we encountered a blizzard of goose-feather-like snow, instantly turning everything into a vast expanse of white—until the darkness outside the window could no longer be seen.
In the wee hours, we arrived at the station. Due to a mechanical fault, the train could not continue to Lanzhou. We urgently refunded our tickets in Xining and bought new ones, then took a bullet train to Lanzhou. Looking back now, I regret not keeping the train ticket stubs from Lhasa.
Our time in Lanzhou was too short. We rushed to the riverbank and finally rode the sheepskin raft we hadn't gotten to ride last time. It was astonishingly steady on the surging waters. The boatman recommended a certain hand-grabbed mutton restaurant, and we relished the wonderful lamb once again.
Reluctantly, Luzhou, I'm back!
Regarding the issue of high altitude sickness in children, it had troubled us for a long time. There were online claims about irreversible effects, so we waited until she turned six to go. Manman still had some altitude sickness, especially while sleeping at night, when she complained of a headache, but it wasn't too pronounced. Still, we bought oxygen for her to inhale for over ten minutes each night as a precaution. One evening at dinner, we met a child around ten years old; the parents were fine, but the child was listless and vomiting upon reaching the plateau. People around also told them that just inhaling oxygen would be fine.
It seems that altitude sickness has little to do with age or physical fitness; it's simply a matter of acclimatization.
