A Lhasa Love Affair

From Shegar, we crossed Gyatso Pass which is by far the highest pass in our journey; standing at 5,200 meters from sea level. Then we camped out at Tibet’s second largest town Shigatze for a night,; next we drove 90km to a yak infested pastoral town call Gyantse and finally on the sixth day, we drove an ass whooping 280km southwest via Karola pass (5,010m) and Kambala Pass(4,794m) to reach the culmination of our road trip - Lhasa.


Lhasa in Tibetan tongue means “place of the gods”, at first glance doesn’t seem too holy or heavenly to me. Maybe I was at the notion that it should look and feel more medieval and sacred like what movies used to portray it to be. As I retrieve the mental picture of what I always picture Tibet to be and compare it to this, this looks more like a city that has been slowly eaten up and desecrated by modern technology. Cars in the streets, monks with hand-held devices, teenagers with “My Chemical Romance” t-shirts on; it just doesn’t gave out the Tibetan vibe. But who are we to deprive the locals of the advancement of this age? Maybe this is just the first impression; it would probably take some time before Lhasa get on to me. But for all that is worth, the 6 day drive here was still worth it and what better way to celebrate our triumph than to party with some locals who likes to drink. Seriously, the last two days here has been nothing but a drink and get drunk affair and that was how I fell in love with Chang.

The first time I did Chang was on the first night I reached Lhasa. I was still trying to adjust to the climate of these high places; I was cold and quickly turning into a human Popsicle. Then Chang came along and showed me that there is nothing to fear about the cold of the night, not when you are with her. We were two lovers making love to each other to keep each other warm until the break of day. From that day onwards, I did Chang every night even day. In fact all of us did Chang and we did her all day and all night.


Who would have thought that it only takes barley, yeast, pottery jar and some fermentation time to create a sweet, sour and most importantly alcoholic drink that could satisfy people like us? It sure ain’t the best but it sure hell gets the work done. We were even taught how guest should drink this alcoholic beverage. You see when the host passes the guest a glass filled with Chang; the guest should accept it with both hands. Then rise the glass with the right hand and use the middle finger of the left hand to dip in the glass and then flick some Chang into the air. Then the guest takes a gulp and the host will fill the glass again, guest take another gulp and the host fills the glass again and this is repeated until the fourth time the glass have been filled, the guest should drained down everything in the single breath. I am not sure what does this represents or maybe it could just very well be a Tibetan drinking game but either way, I am happy that we found Chang. I think we drank so much that we must have dried up a lake. It’ll probably take weeks for me to sober up.


It’s been 2 days since my road trip to Lhasa has ended. My traveling companions and I have parted ways; I am all alone again here in the city of Lhasa and I am left to my own devices to determine what is next for me. I am standing on a crossroad now, should I head home or continue on my little rampage across the globe. If so where? I set out to find my very own edge of the world but seriously, I really do not know where to start. Have I been running to all the wrong places? Or am I just running in circles and going nowhere?


And in the words of the hair god Jon Bon Jovi: “I don’t know where I am going; only God knows where I have been.”


I think I should continue to travel wherever my boots will lead.

It’s Just a Mug of Lard

I have always been a grandma boy since the day my mum decided to retire from being a full time house wife and join the work force, so that we had enough to put my sister through Art College. So I was left under my grandma’s rules at the age of 3. Most of the people who knew my grandma, knew her as a sweet old lady who wouldn’t even hurt a rat, but none of them knew about the iron lady that rule with an iron clad fist when it comes to grooming and table manners. For the first 10 years of my life, I was basically a private living in my grandma’s barrack and was put through the most intensive grooming mastery and table manners mastery training (think Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket but minus the vulgarity). For her grooming and manners is nothing to be laughing and gagging around about; and she believes that all good things should be rewarded and bad ones are to be punished. There wasn’t a day in my life while living with her that I do not fear that I was not presentable enough for her and having meals with her was as intense as taking a walk in the field filled with live mines. Today, many may think that I am just generally faking my table manners to impress others while my friends used to think that I might be on the verge of becoming a transvestite because of my overly grooming “protocol”. But thanks to the term metro-sexual, I finally got them off my back. Even though her methods may seem a little excessive but only good things has come from it. She has made me who I am today in terms of self grooming and table manners.


But I never thought that one day it would lead me to one the most horrid experience in my life. It was early morning at Shegar and while my Canadian companions were still resting after a night of drinking, I decided to go down to the lounge of the guest house that I was staying in. Just as I step down and into the lounge, two Tibetan women saw me and they jump up to their feet and started to talk in tongues to each other. Then one of them came over and said something to me which totally sounded gibberish and then she seated me at a table, while the other woman was busy preparing something. Well, I guess they were just doing what they do best – Play host and feed the guest.


One thing that my grandma had thought me is never to turn down sincere hospitality and also I must not leave the table until I finish what that has been served to me. But as I turn my head over my should and saw one of the women walking towards me with her eye fixed on mine and in her hands the single most behemoth size mug which I have a pretty good idea what was inside it. I was right; it was what I thought it was – Yak Butter Tea that was made from green tea leave, Yak butter and water.


Earlier I was told by the Canadian connection that Yak butter Tea was probably the worst drink that they have ever tasted and I should by all means avoid if I do not have a strong stomach. Now look at the mess I got myself into just by taking a stroll downstairs. I try to calm myself down and told myself that it wasn’t going to be that bad. I smile and accepted the women’s generous offer. And now it was just me, the monster mug and 2 sets of eyes on me; I take a gulp of the hot, salty and buttery drink. Bloody fucking hell, the taste was far worse than I ever anticipated; it was like drinking really bad melted butter.


Faking a smile and throwing a thumb up, I manage to keep the ladies’ eyes off me. But now, I have to get to the bottom of this mug and I had a plan. I will try to take little sip that would allow it to slip pass my taste receptors at the side of my tongue. It was a good plan at first but soon I begin to realize that it was too slow and the top layer of my tea was starting to solidify and pretty soon it turned into chunks of lard.


You know what is worst than having Yak Butter Tea? It is having a cold Yak Butter tea.

Really I don't have to tell you how my story ends because you can pretty much guessed since I was stuck with a mug full of misery. Draining down a mammoth mug of green tea with chunks of chewy lard floating in it is probably the worst experience thus far and it will forever earn a place in my life's hall of fame. Usually, I would become a spin doctor and tell everyone how tasty and good this beverage is and everyone should try it. But I think anyone without a strong gut to hold in a steamy mug of lard should never ever go through what I have just gone through.


Let’s just hope I don’t get sick along the way to our next destination - Shigatse.

Rape the Moment

As our Land Cruiser chugged down the unpaved road leaving a trail of dust, we slowly made our ascend to the world highest plateau. We work our way across Nyalam Pass which was about 3,800 meters above sea level and we steadily climb up Lalung-la Pass which stood above 5,050 meters. Officially, we were on top of a plateau that is 1,000 meters taller than the highest peak in Malaysia. So, is there any chance in hell that maybe I could get one of them certificate that mountaineers get after that have conquer Mt. Kinabalu? Hell, I’m Malaysian and I stood taller than your highest peak? No? Pffffftttttt…


You know unlike Malaysian highways, here you don’t really have to worry about going to the rest room at a pit stop. Because it is everywhere, I am not kidding you. Whenever you feel like doing number 1 or even number 2, there are no worries about holding back till the next stop. Seriously, you don’t have to because there aren’t going to be any pit stop en route. Just look around you, the nature is your fucking toilet; behind some bushes or a huge rock or trees or maybe a cave if you are lucky enough. People here live and shit freely as they wish; they do not need a designated place for them to aim their penises or squat down, and that my friend is the free spirit of Tibet. (iThink…)


Anyway, it was the same old clear blue sky with white cotton candy clouds, the gray unpaved road and the typical Tibetan landscape filled with the view of the Himalayan ranges. And it was just a little outside of the town of Tingris, the Braille of our facial expression let out in unison the meaning of awe and adoration, as we caught the first glimpse of Mt. Everest - the mother goddess of all the mountains. I was looking straight at the roof of the world. Its funny how just by recalling that moment, I get goose bumps all over. But it went down rather differently there. Just like a pack of excited wild baboon, we pull our vehicle aside and started doing crazy pose and ugly facial expression as we jump around and take turns to snap pictures of ourselves with the north face of Mt Everest. Are we just being disrespectful for not respecting the moment or are we just humans? I really cannot imagine if god were to come down and we all started to react to the same manner as we did today; but I guess it would have been a great “Remember the time I camwhore with god” story. Fucking A?

And so we did what we have to do, and after we have kill and rape the revered vibe of that moment and place, our excitement finally died down and we were on our way to our next stop for the day – Shegar.

At The Gates of Hell

After a real early supper on our first day in Nyalam, I was stuffed, not drunk but almost and I was ready to mingle with some of the trekkers staying in the same guest house. But to be frank, right about now, the last thing I need is some loudmouth trekker telling “Remember the time” stories and how awesome it is that they are going to head out to Mt. Everest base camp tomorrow. Seriously, I don’t get jealous easily but right now I don’t need another half-stoner reminding me that at my current state of health, I am not fit to even think of Everest. I know it is hard to avoid it because most of the trekkers that spends the night here is either going up or has just came back from there and every fucking thing that they spits outta their mouth is either Mt. Everest or something related to it.


So being that sore loser that I was that night, I drifted away from the “Mt Everest” clique like a desolated jerkwater berg and sat down alone at the corner far enough where their conversation seems gibberish and the sound of their laughter seems muffled. Just as I thought my first night here was going to end the moment I finish the strong content that was inside my flask. A fairly young local came up to me and we sorta started talking. The conversation wasn’t as interesting as the one going on inside, as a matter of fact it was full of banality but I do appreciated her gesture of coming over.


My night here was basically between Scylla and Charybids, but if I have to choose between them again, it would definitely be the slow and boring chat with this local Tibetan girl. Well, at least I found out what the nickname of this Town of Nyalam is; the Nepalese traders refers this place “The Gates of Hell' because the route here to the Nepalese border is so treacherous. Here Bhote Kosi River which acts as a physical border between Nepal and Tibet drops into a deep and extremely steep gorge, like a crack on the face of the earth that is almost 1000 foot deep. Well, I am glad I already passed through that and I will not be looking forward to crossing it again on my way back.

We started the next day pretty late because unlike me, most of us were too pissed drunk to even bother sleep last night. Amongst my friends back at home, I was the most lay back ones, but when I'm with these guys, I’m like the Monica Gellar of FRIENDS. You know one thing that I didn’t really notice last night during supper is that how crappy the food here is. Our lunch spread was basically: fish that smells fishy, soy sauce that doesn’t taste like soy sauce, pork that taste like last night’s pork (Wait it is last night’s pork!), noodles basically serve with water, bean curd (well, this is alright) and some tasteless broth with floating vegetables. Maybe it is just me feeling a little cranky but I am just gonna let it slide because I am really looking forward to head to our next town.

God, I miss tar roads

As Bloodshot Clear as Stigmata

Driving along the Chinese 318 feels like a [G - D^add11 - E^m7 - A^m]; if you are not sure what the fuck I mean, maybe you could strap on your guitar or pull up your piano seat and try playing these chords. The sky is so clear and blue; you could through the stratosphere and maybe beyond; the panoramic view of the mountains over the Tibetan plateau makes you wonder just how huge this earth that you thought was getting smaller really is.



Let me take you a little after the border town of Kodari, we have to leave our Nepali ride, bag up and make it up to the Friendship Bridge, then waltz right into China on our feet. (No cars are allowed). Once we pass the arch with the red flag, we were officially out of Nepal and now we are subject to the rules and regulations of the People’s Republic of fucking China. There was a little set back because we waited for hours upon hours before we could get to our Land Cruiser. I guess someone didn’t slip in a little something extra for the officials but I am just too tired to be complaining and I am just thankful that we are back on the road and not locked up in some cell to rot because we were carrying a fair amount of “spirits” with us.



Everything was uphill (literary) after we left the bridge over Bhote Kosi river; the first Tibetan town we came by was Zhangmu (樟木), it was 2,300 meters above sea level. It didn’t stop there, we continue on climbing till we reached Nyalam (聂拉木) which was 3,750meters above sea level and which was also our first pit stop for day 1. If this was Malaysia’s highest mountain then I have already made it 90% to its peak. I swear if I didn’t know better, I would have thought that this was the stairways to heaven.

Maybe it was because of the staring into the clear blue skies and the endless jagged mountains along the way that have given me a sign, as bloodshot clear as stigmata. Who am I kidding? I looked deep into my heart and found that it was drenched with only the thought of her. So be gone my inner demons, stop stalling me, for I am ready to split myself open like the Red Sea and bare my soul to the apple of my eye.