Last seen in Lhasa

I like to think I’m hardy.

Not in a brawny or burly manner. Perhaps not even in an entirely able-bodied fashion. My flailing eyesight, flagging endurance and spindly limbs, discounts me from passing myself off as the robust sort.

But I always thought I have a tenacious temperament, brimming with fortitude and generally mental mucilaginous.

Then I read ‘Last Seen in Lhasa’ by Claire Scobie and realized that I am in no way hardy. Especially compared to Ani, a Tibetan nun. The memoir charts the unlikely friendship that develops between English journalist Scobie and Ani.

I’m the sort that hates to spend too much time alone and generally feel compelled to colour in silences with idle chitchat. Whereas Ani retreats into mountain top caves, for months of silent meditation. I doubt I would physically or mentally last a day.

Scobie initially travels to Tibet, as part of an expedition in search of a rare red lily. Ani is invited as a spiritual guide, as the region they are travelling through is a sacred site for pilgrims "Pemako was a nebulous place…a spiritualscape where legend merged with truth."

This expedition is cut short due to political bureaucracy, Scobie returns a few months later to find the flower. During this second visit Scobie becomes eager to learn more about the mysterious nun.

Ani is a yogini  “a woman who undertakes physically and psychologically demanding practices”. Including Chod:

“way to sever emotions such as hatred, desire and ignorance to...limit one's attachment to the physical body and the inherent fear of dying.... 'chod is a short path to enlightenment,' writes Phillip Dawson, 'a vivid enactment of self-sacrifice.' It involves visualizing one's body and brain 'being totally dismembered, smashed, crushed and herded to a bloody pulp' before calling upon the spirits or hungry ghosts to devour it.'”

Ani is an extraordinarily resilient physically and mentally, it's no wonder Scobie becomes consumed with thoughts of her and revisits her several times.

'Over the years Ani, in my mind, had become whatever I imagined her to be - my teacher, my soul mate, spirit sister, cho-drok or pilgrim friend - my heroine no less.'

Not only apt in describing the metaphysical, Scobie deftly captures the tremendous physicality of Tibet, its unique sights, smells and sounds.

'The sounds of prayers rising, the smell of unwashed bodies and saccharine aroma from the butter lamps contributed to the heady atmosphere.'

Reading this instantly transported back to the temples we explored, moving through the dark labyrinth of corridors in clockwise fashion. At the time I was only aware that this was protocol. Scobie describes this protocol as Kora, a moving meditation, which earns the practitioner Spiritual power otherwise known as Wang.

I now understand the bullrush in temples, as nomads pushed and scrambled past us to get through the narrow doorways. Racing up and down ladders, they completed the clockwise circuit as quickly as possible so they could repeat it again and again.

Scobie visits to Tibet coincide with great political turmoil in the region. Scobie weaves fact, history, context and emotion into the narrative. Through her friendships, Scobie access into Tibetan society and how it was changing as a result of the presence of the Chinese. This insight is something outsiders are rarely privy to, especially given the heavy military control and surveillance present

"I asked ani if she ever felt hatred towards the Chinese for what they had done in Tibet.

'It’s Tibetans' bad karma - including my own - from previous lives that has lead to the present situation.'

Not only informative, its strong narrative thread makes it highly readable. In fact I thought I seen enough of Tibet when I was there last year, but after reading this I am itching to go back and explore some more.

Book an escape

Whilst traveling I wanted the crib notes about each country. Not just to ascertain key landmarks (a quick search on wikitravel can do that) I wanted to sit in the shoes of someone - be fictional or nonfictional - and experience the country through before landing it’s doorstep.

In fact nearly everyone on the truck felt the same. Most of these books went on high rotation, passed along to whoever had dibbed it next.

Britain - Notes from a small island

India - The White Tiger, Shantaram, Life of Pi and A Fine Balance

Nepal - The Climb and Into Thin Air

Tibet - Seven Years in Tibet

China - Wild Swans

Cambodia- First They Killed my Father

Thailand - The Beach

Australia - Down Under

After travelling through India I read 'A Fine Balance'. Even though I was in subzero temperatures in China, each time I flicked open the book I was transported me back to the bustling streets of Delhi. I could feel the hot slap of humidity on my skin and hear the story unfold to a sensory symphony of sights, smells and sounds.

It was a wonderful reading experience! Though I literally had to take breaks from the novel, as at times it became a sensory overland. From the jarring symphony of high-pitched car horns to the soft drag of handmade dry grass brooms on pavements. The angry spit of hot oil from street stalls frying Samoa to the heady perfume of cooked mustard seeds. The sickly sweet chai to the retched stench of faeces from open sewers. The kaleidoscope of colourful saris from roadsides to harvesting in fields. The crush of thousands of people passing under the stern gaze of policemen barricaded by sandbag walls at train stations.

I became conscious of recording the true essence of each country I visited. As I want each country in my novel to be a thumping beast of a character. To leap off the page, to curse, groan, moan or laugh, leap and pulsate with energy. Each country, city and region had its one vibe, it's own personality. Bucharest was crumbling, Delhi bureaucratic, Singapore a slick shoppers paradise, Berlin a bohemian playground and Jakarta a series of sweeping, traffic laden boulevards.

I don't want my novel to be all about me - that would the dullest book written. I didn't travel just to think about myself. I set on the road to see, feel and grasp the globe. I want to ensure I capture the character of each place. I want the reader to feel like they were on the road with me. 

Nightly nightmares

Prayer flags in the wind

I'm on the hunt for a book. I bought 'The Secret Lives of the Dalai Lama' whilst in Kathmandu & gave myself a crash course in Tibetan history, philosophy and religion. There was a sense of urgency to learn as much as possible. Stories about China's strict border control and contraband reading list were in equal parts frightening and frustrating. I wanted to be informed about the Tibet/China situation before crossing over. I speedily read and posted it home, hoping for a chance to revisit the book. Particularly now given that I am writing the Tibetan chapter of my book.

This book gave me nightmares.

Tibetan philosophies and history is not all fuzzy hugs, hippie karma and rainbows. Well, rainbows feature fairly frequently in folklore as denoting the birth of reincarnated spirits. Tibetan history is awash with bloodshed, treachery, hostile invasions, political turmoil and poisoning. Reaching thousands of years before the 1949 invasion. Their history is deeply embroiled with scripture describing the plateau's spiritualscape of demons and portals to the many layers of hell.

I would suddenly bolt upright in the middle of the night, gasping for air. A showreel of images dancing in my mind. Spirits with claws and multiple eyes. The stench of rotting flesh. The feeling of feet stomping on my chest and dead men on horseback. I would flick on the light, casting ominous shadows on the damp hotel room walls. I would listen to the gurgle of water trickle through rusty pipes, trying to catch my breathe. The smoggy streets of Tamil silent. Strict nighttime curfews, enforced by stick swinging police, meant only the foolhardy would wander through the labyrinth of lane-ways after 11pm.

This became a nightly routine. Falling back to sleep difficult. My head failing to find a comfortable position on the lumpy concrete sack of a pillow.

In retrospect, there were other reasons why sleep eluded me during my 3weeks in Kathmandu. I drank countless cups of coffee, indulged in sugar infused snacks, hung out in reggae bars drinking cheap vodka, became addicted to Twin Peaks, contorted my body under the tutelage of hardcore yoga junkies, became feverous with the flu - so it was almost no wonder I woke in cold sweats from the most vivid dreams.

Yet the impeding unknown caused my heart to grip in fear. Once we crossed into Tibet anything that could go wrong could be disastrous. The region is twice the size of France and virtually cut off from the world due to geographical and political obstacles. We would be ascending altitude at rates unadvisedly by medical professionals and camping in sub zero temperatures.I doubted I was physically prepared for the challenge (hence the half hearted attempts of yoga. I dread to think how my favourite pose, the corpse pose, would have 'prepared' me).

Road to Everest

Once I was in Tibet I fell in love with the rolling tundras, soaring mountains and searing sunlight.

But I also complained bitterly the whole time! The physical discomfort of extreme temperatures and altitude was & remains like nothing I have ever endured. Unless I don't find this book soon gosh darn it!