We're about a fortnight's journey from the Forbidden City. Our yak must think we're crazy, pushing on relentlessly as we do. Not to mention the nomads, who travel but a few miles and then permit their beasts to browse the high pastures. You see, we've encountered diverse setbacks - following mountain trails that led us smack into rocky walls that showed us no immediately recognizable path of ascent. Then there were the shifty-eyed brigands - known throughout the region as Khampas. Their encampment - Gyak Bongra - is a name that makes brave men tremble; that, we learned, to our chagrin and a potentially disastrous termination of our lives.
As it stands, we did escape, mainly through a bit of bravado and the use of our wiles. But our chief cause of concern is the bitter cold and our fending off its ravages, frostbite being our principal worry. We have no gloves, but only old socks as their replacement. Often we've no choice but to bivouac in the open. Rarely do we come upon an "ihega" - a sheltering stone fence, that protects against the wind. The below-freezing temperatures frequently render sleep impossible, but eventually, because of sheer exhaustion, our slumber becomes leaden.
We've bluffed our way through various check points on an expired travel permit. Some subordinate officials are skeptical, but others are happy to see us on our way. Llasa is but the distance of a few days.
What further challenges await us? Despite our physical pains and utter exhaustion, we are drawn inexorably toward our objective. If only by dint of sheer determination and will, we shall see the fabled city at the top of the world.
Signing off for now,
Armchair Traveler/Companion of Peter and Heinrich, on our sojourn through Tibet.
Reference: SEVEN YEARS IN TIBET, by Heinrich Harrer, 1953.
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