10/07/2010
I am one who likes to see and do things for myself. This has led to seeing and doing many things that were regrettable, but nonetheless good experiences. Taking the sleeper bus last night here to Maqen will be in that category. This situation presented several difficulties, not the least of which was that the beds were a paltry 5½ ft long. Not only that, but the bus also didn’t take the highway (obviously) but rather the local roads so the ride was incredibly bumpy, so there were times when hitting a particularly big pothole (as opposed the garden variety), I would be nearly launched out of my top bunk onto the sully bus floor below. The cleanliness of the beds was also dubious at best, as the entire bus smelled like feet. Or it could have just been the guy next to me (I think I figured out how they make boots here: they simply don four pairs of socks, wear and not wash them till they’re rock hard, then, viola!, you’ve got boots!). I managed to befriend a Buddhist monk from Inner Mongolia who invited me to his 老家 (remember that one?) in December. I fully intend on taking him up on that offer. After a long pit stop (which we pushed into the heat of the owner’s house) and subsequently sleeping in one or two 30 minute intervals a few times, we arrived at 5am. We were greeted by darkness, an immaculate night sky, and below freezing temperatures (not to mention disbelief that this place was a medium-sized dot on the map). We were kindly invited to stay on the bus in the comfort of our beds until daybreak by the driver who smoked even as he slept (I think…). The city rested at 4500m above sea level so the air was thin and cold. The wind made my cheeks hurt so it was fortunate that I wasn’t in the mood for smiling J At a little past daybreak when we were booted off the bus, it was still cold and we were running off about an hour or two’s worth of sleep and junky food from the rest stop. So we, like sheep gone astray, shuffled into the closest food establishment that would have us. Inside, we were greeted by a iron cast stove that would serve as our table (should’ve learned earlier not to put my elbows on the table) and warm hospitality of a the Tibetan proprietor. After eating spicy hot soup and noodles and drinking tea, we went in search of the rumored hotel. Indeed, it existed. In this one-horse town, there was but one place that was open to foreigners (situation that needs more explaining). After checking in, we rested for an hour or so, then with reckless abandon, charged out onto the street. By this time, it was mid morning, the sky was bluer than blue, and the sun was high and the air was crisp. Beautiful. I got it in my head to climb the first mountain I saw (something that tends to happen, Lisa and Wesley may remember from Burtchesgarten ;) ). So, armed to the teeth with a bottle of water, dried noodles, ice coffee, and snicker bars, we started off. At this altitude, even tying your shoes can render your lungs useless. On the way up, we passed through a Tibetan prayer flag ‘village’, which is where the locals hang thousands of multicolored prayer flags. It was a beautiful sight. Then we climbed and climbed and reached top after top. But there always seemed to be one higher (and it was “just RITE THERE!”). We past herds of cows, a coyote chasing a flock of absurdly stupid goats, streams, birds, and finally reached the top of this mountain. One could know it was the top by the small collection of prayer flags on its highest point. There at 5100m above sea level, we sat in the stark wind and among the mountain flowers and beheld the breathtaking majesty and beauty of the Tibetan plateau. It was to die for. And as the sun made its descent from its perch in the mid sky to rest behind the endless mountains beyond, we decided it was best to do the same. 
The descent was hard as the 4 hour climb up had rendered my knees useless. Eventually reaching the bottom around half past nine, we swiftly ate a hearty dinner and the same Tibetan place and retired to our foreigner hotel.
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