Summit

There are some places that God has forbidden man to go. Everest is one of them.

We make the drive from Sakya to Rongphu, a few kilometers from Base Camp. Our first view of Everest appears as we mount a rise and round a curve. The line of the Himalayas is before us. The snow-covered range is so tortured and twisted it looks like waves on an angry sea. But Everest is unmistakable. Our drive towards the mountain takes us off the Friendship Highway onto dirt roads through barren territory, with the peak disappearing behind crushed land. We stop at a government checkpoint, the guards marking each passport against the cleared list. We are on our way again.

Our next view of the mountain is at the top of a near-endless series of switchbacks. All around us are twisted and folded sedimentary rocks, testament to the violent ongoing collision of India into the Asian continent. I suddenly realize this is why I came. Not for having been to Tibet, not for Buddhist-sourced enlightenment. It is because I am driven to visit that place that is forbidden.

We descend again and the massif is hidden from us. We take lunch at a small, poor town. I have chinese noodles with vegetables, the best I’ve had so far. The day is clear, the air is warming and we are making good time. Up, up through rock-strewn moonscapes where only scrub grass grows. Another curve, clearing a last series of hills and there it is. A pyramidal mass scraping an unblemished blue sky, leaving a trail of white clouds from the peak. It is unbelievably awe-inspiring. The air is thin here – a few hundred meters from the monastery and the dorms where we will stay the night. 5000 meters above sea level.

We have daylight and the weather is with us, so we drop our bags off at the dorms and set out on the 8 kilometer trek to Base Camp. The start is easy. We are following a dirt road that is level and straight. The mountain looms ahead. Even so, walking at 5000 meters – 16,400 feet – is difficult. My head begins to hurt, my heart is beating rapidly. I pass small buildings, a field of stone piles. The sun is slowly going down. After 4 kilometers, the road begins to rise. It is here that things get tough. I concentrate on my steps. I look up at the mountain. It does not want me here. I am alone. The road begins a series of switchbacks to get up a hill. I still have 2.5 kilometers to go and I have pushed my body to its limit. But this is a pilgrimage. A test. A headwind has been picking up, now around 25 knots. There is a shortcut up a steep incline that cuts off a switchback. I take it by concentrating on landmarks a few feet ahead. Those are my goals now. A rock up 2 meters. A boulder 3 meters beyond. I’m at the top. I want to stop. There is a red “1” marker ahead of me. I think, hope , pray that that means 1 kilometer to Base Camp. I estimate my steps at ½ meter, 2000 steps. I begin to measure in 100s. Now all I focus on is the next 100. I know I have 900 meters. 800 meters. 700 meters to go. The road straightens out, the sun dips behind a ridge, the headwind hits me in full force. The mountain is there. Of course it doesn’t mock me. It doesn’t take notice of my existence. I know that getting the last ½ kilometer is all mental. My body will do it if I make it. My heart pounds, I gasp, I’m at 5200 meters – 17,000 feet – when I pass a sign, some portable toilets, a building. Then I’m there.

I have my picture taken in front of a monument and the peak. I climb one last crest, covered with prayer flags, for a spectacular view of the pyramid catching the full rays of the setting sun. I have made my own pilgrimage, completed my trek. I have pushed my body to its limits – to the point where it is a mental challenge as to whether I can tolerate the pain. Now I can say I did it, went to the Forbidden Place. I feel like vomiting.

Across the Tibetan plain

We leave Lhasa in three white Toyota 4-Runners, all-wheel drive vehicles that you might see the average yuppie family driving around on city streets. They can handle a bit more than city streets, by the way. Our group has now been joined by Zef, management in the travel company, fairly soft-spoken and perpetually concerned about altitude sickness. Our local guide, Anu, a shifty, cigarette-smoking Tibetan who dyes his hair jet black and adds an "s" to the end of most of his English words, will be continuing with us. And we have three crazy drivers, ours is named Pupu. The highway out of Lhasa is well-maintained smooth asphalt, and we comfortably head out through farmland, between hills and beneath overcast skies. We are heading east, not west, for our first stop is Yumbulagong, the oldest stone building in Tibet. It is a stunningly situated monastery at the top of a ridge. I hike up, some ride donkeys.

In the afternoon, Nigel and I explore the old town area of Tsetang, white stone buildings with elaborately colored doorways. Dozens of cows roam the dirt side streets. We come across a beautiful monastery, unrestricted by the usual entry fees, and go inside, passing several monks playing basketball in the courtyard.

The next day we are heading west again. The scenery is remarkable. Snow-capped mountains, blue lakes and high mountain passes. The most spectacular view comes at the top of Gampa La pass overlooking Yamdrok Yutso, also known as Scorpian Lake because of it's shape. We are so high up, everything seems to be below us, the aquamarine lake, the white mountains, the clouds. Only the sun continues to shine from above, keeping us warm.

We spend the night in Gyantse, and it is here that I spend my first night without heat. The high season is over, winter is approaching and the hotels, empty of guests, don't use heat. There is no heater in my room. The floor is too cold to put even sock-covered feet on. I spend the night in my mummy sleeping bag, under layers of wool blankets with only my nose and mouth exposed. In the morning, Nigel has us sing songs with the world "sun" in them. But it is another cloudless day and we are quickly warmed as we head to Pelkor Chode monastery. The monastery is dominated visually by the Kumbum stupa, containing over 70 chapels, each with a different image of Buddha incarnations. The stupa is tiered, like a wedding cake. In the afternoon, we head to Shigatse.

It is a short drive to Shigatse. The roads are still decent, the weather is perfect. The yaks are frisky. As the sun is setting, Lynette and I walk the Kora, the line of prayer wheels surrounding Tashilunpo monastery. We are now at 3900 meters, 12,800 feet, and the air keeps getting thinner. The next morning it is another monastery tour. We know we signed up for a trip called "Mountains and Monasteries," but now we're all feeling a bit oversaturated. I'm unable to retain any of Anu's "pachen lamas, dalai lamas, most important stupas, 7th king, 32nd king, 7th centuries, 8 centuries" blah blah etc., in any cohesive mental order. When's lunch?

Another dawn and another drive, this time to Sakya. The towns are getting smaller and the roads are getting worse. We go to visit the monastery, but it is closed. I think we all breath a sigh of relief. Instead we take a walk through the small town, up onto a ridge overlooking the valley. Later, we come back and play cards until the sun dips and the temperature drops instantly from 55 to 30. We find a restaurant called Sakya Farmers Taste with a room arranged around a stove. It's warm, a great place to play cards, and why go someplace else for dinner - noodle soup and momos. The hotel, of course, has no heat. I've purchased a completely unsafe space heater for $10 which I sneak in to my room. The room lights dim when I turn it on as 5 sides of the cube light up orange. It doesn't make a dent in the bitter cold. Tomorrow, we head for Everest.