Women sporting thick braids and heavy, droopy earrings. Men suited up every day of the week. Homeless children dancing around a bonfire. Nomads offering cups of fresh yak yogurt. A picnic of assorted lamb intestines at 3,800 meters. Road tripping with a living Buddha.

These were some of the fresh memories that stewed in my thoughts after five days in Qinghai, a vast and stunning chunk of China. The province lies immediately east of Tibet a land forbidden for foreigners to freely travel in. The people living there are predominately of Tibetan, Hui, and Han (that’s me!) origin.

While I have already published guidelines on how to backpack Qinghai on a budget, below are some personal reflections from Days 543-547 of my nonstop, around-the-world journey.

 

Blood Intestines, Living Buddha, And Other Tibetan Impressions

Connecting The Dots In My Life

Who knew that four years ago, as I fought my body to finish climbing Kilimanjaro, I had made a friend who had connections with a living deity?

Tibetan living Buddha sometimes show their Chinese-city-friends around their home. Such an occasion is very rare, and even less accessible to foreigners.

My friend Bufan repeatedly beseeched me to participate in this year’s Tibetan retreat. It was only after understanding that the trip would make geographical sense with my initial travel intentions, that I finally bought my plane ticket, just days before take-off.

Nature

As someone who is very open and curious to China, I had never considered Qinghai before this spontaneous flight. I quickly found out that Qinghai is home to salt lakes of shimmery turquoise and emerald hues, desolate desert, snowy peaks, and layered green and red mountains that seem to roll infinitely into the Tibetan plateau.

The scenery out west in China, wasn’t far off from the scenery in the Western United States. Except here, one would find herds of sheep and yaks balanced on the slant of the grazing hills, or snacking at the highway median.

Reminders

The mixture of ethnicities and ways of life was instantaneously visible. The sight of muslim natives made me happy, as always. This joy is likely derived from how others unfairly form opinions about them, and how kindly they have always treated me.

Another treat was sight of stray dogs—something uncommon in China, but very common Tibetan areas.

Witnessing Tibetans spin their prayer wheels and prostate themselves flat on the floor were scenes that sent me back to my past trips to zones of Tibetan China. I thought of the shawl I got in Tibetan China because I was too cold, and the yak I once sat on, and from a later trip, the other yak that I had a conversation with because it wouldn’t stop crying.

 

Temples

Our group had the privilege of witnessing a few rituals that were endemic to Tibetan Buddhism, the most striking occurring when some monks finished their mantra class.

A dozen villagers were waiting outside the entrance, many of them lying flat on the floor, face down. It seemed they were waiting to be stepped over by the monks, and later, to be spat on, as the monks drank a sip of water and sprayed it back out and over their heads. This is a form of blessing and tantric initiation for younger monks.

 

I watched a monk gingerly brush the face of a Buddha statue as he balanced on wobbly metal bars that had raised him high off the ground. A group of his peers chanted mantras as we sat on the floor, immersed in the scent of burning butter candles. This ceremony keeps the gods pleased, and represents happiness, justice, good fortune, and an acceptance of suffering.

Earlier, each of us had gotten to swirl the paint brush around the paint-gold mixture, although I question how authentic our participation was.

For the maximum prosperity, people visit a temple or a set of pagodas by walking in a counterclockwise manner, three times in a row.

Listening to My Body

I was proud of how strong my endurance has become. As a child I had a sub-17 BMI and used to fall sick at high-elevation places in China. Throw me in a Floridian spring under the midsummer sun and my lips would purple in a minute. At 19 I puked my way up the final ascent of Africa’s tallest peak.

Now, by prioritizing hydration and nourishment, I was kicking out five kilometers at 3,300 meters without more than a day of acclimating, and without consequences.

Nomads

Tents and mountains automatically go together. It was August, so the nomads had led their livestock to graze at higher elevations. We drove to 3,800 meters for a meal made using simple stoves, which also served as a warm fireplace.

It was my first time being hosted in a Tibetan tent and observing a nomadic kitchen. The interior of the tents had no flooring—just grass, earth, and cozy blankets to sit on.

In every group of tents, several intimidating guard dogs were leashed up. Based on the ferocity in their barks, they no doubt kept the their yaks and humans safe and sound, all year long.

 

Diet

Key to surviving the harsh conditions of Tibetan regions is butter tea. This concoction is brewed in giant kettles, and a batch is ready to go, at any time of day. Calories, fat, and hydration in a cup…sometimes salted, sometimes not.

A coarse, biscuit-like staple that often complements the tea is tsampa. If it’s as hard as a rock, it’s normal.

Moderate amounts of fresh meat are of course eaten as well, with the cream of the cream being blood lamb intestines. I had the fortune of finding that out when we sat down to our nomad picnic.

I took a bite for a picture, and as I already started to chew, I looked down to find dark red drops on my hands. That was when I realized that blood intestines = a tube full of guts submerged in fresh blood. I had been more prepared for something along the lines of morcilla, a dried blood sausage that usually shows up in Argentine asados.

However queasy I felt, I didn’t spit it out. Also on the menu were cuts of lamb, fatty intestines, and intestines wrapped in fat…nothing quite like it for soothing for the digestive system at an elevation of nearly 4,000 meters.

Homemade Tibetan yak yogurt was my jam. Served warm, or cooled with a thin later of yellow butter that has risen to its surface, the treat was creamy, soft, and delicious.

The Qinghai region itself was wheat-heavy. Tibetan or not, this meant noodles, steamed buns, and pasta chopped into squares.

 

Children

Of all my travels, I think the most humbling situations have been the times when I was with children without parents. They live without receiving a love so unconditional, something that we often forget about.

The living Buddha founded an orphanage, which also took in children who were in bad situations. A common case was the parents ditching the children with the grandparents, who couldn’t properly care for them.

For these 100 or so students, their school is their home. Their classmates were their family. They cook and feed and clean up after each other.

One 18-year-old girl who been taken under the living Buddha’s wing since age four, saw him as her father. She worried about him every time he went out of town, and never wanted him to grow old. She described how truly full of joy everyone was during the Lunar New Year celebrations, and how the sisters who couldn’t make it back that year would cry.

The children prepared lamb kebabs for us, cooked us Tibetan pasta, and brought it to our tables. They liked to see my passport and were taken aback at my English. We danced and picked wild herbs together.

 

My time with the young faces left my mind singed with two questions.

If China had not involved itself and done what it had done to Tibet, would to overall standard of living and opportunities be greater here, and in turn mean that these same children would have parents?

If China had not involved itself, was 20th century Tibet so weak and vulnerable, over 1,000 years past the height of its empire, that another country would have stepped in and exploited to their own favor?

Travel Ethics

As travel gains popularity and information online multiplies exponentially, I find it more important than ever to keep my writing honest and blunt.

I hate being served.

This statement is a personal preference that’s not going to change, but it’s one thing to be served on vacation for services you pay for, and a whole other to be served by an ethnic minority whose independence was voided by your own ethnicity, with their service repaid under the premise of “donations.”

During my time with the group, Tibetans did everything for us. I disagree with this because I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. If I ever need help, I ask. I see everyone in the world as my equal. Wealth, poverty, career, race, religion… these cannot sway me.

I am sure the monks who hosted us were wonderful, charitable mortal/immortal beings. I saw their kindness myself. The children were eating a more balanced diet than most American kids. They received full medical attention for any health mishap. Once a child graduated, the monks would do their best to secure a job and a promising future for the child. 

 

Still, I watched our group freely photograph sacred ceremonies—ceremonies which felt staged. We traveled as a squad with the monks’ SUVs, Mercedes van, and gas-guzzling Ford truck.

As I watched a monk throw his empty Red Bull can out the window of his Ford before ripping open a bag of Oreos, I couldn’t help but think,

“This is spiritual bullshit.”

If anyone else besides me saw through what was happening around us, they didn’t show it. It made me feel awkward.

Like tourists anywhere in the world, our group was most interested in dressing up in traditional Tibetan robes to take hundreds of photos to upload on WeChat, and to use the children’s cute faces for more likes. Most of us were unfortunately glued to their smartphones. Everyone wanted to pose for photos with the monks, or to be photographed in a praying position.

Being around people who (perhaps unknowingly) pretended to understand a religion on some level just because of one’s connections or fatter wallet, and being around Tibetan monks who had the latest iPhones, made me uncomfortable.

Even a genuine bond formed with a child is a problem, if one goes home after a few weeks, or months, and other outsiders come and leave again. When a child picks up on the pattern, it becomes a heartbreaking realization.

The children never ate with us. When the girls had spent the whole morning cooking for us guests, they ate last. While the families of our group brought too many snacks and candies for the school kids, they had even more waiting to shower us back with.

Watching the children from both sides fill themselves on cheap sugar as they grinned with mouthfuls of rotten teeth, and seeing all the plastic litter generated, really gets to me. I myself can no longer give processed food to a child who doesn’t know better, because I’d feel like I’m killing that child.

The monks who hosted us knew how to treat a large group of Chinese city dwellers: with too much food. Snacks, sweets, and meal stops when no one was hungry. I never wanted to see meat again.

 

We were all so full, and right next to us, were the skinniest children, asking if they could bring us one more helping. I felt so guilty that it permanently changed my relationship with eating. I told myself if I truly cared about others, if I were mindful to those in the world who go days without eating, I would never overeat or waste food again.

I know it was all Tibetan hospitality. I know some group members were extremely close with the living Buddha, and have been following his guidance for years. I know they have a deep friendship and that both sides have gone far out of their ways to help each other.

Despite any personal discomfort, despite not knowing any of the monks in charge very well and not knowing what would actually trickle down to the kids, I wanted to leave them with some cash for the school.

Then I changed my mind. Before we entered the monastery founded by the living Buddha, we were asked for a 300RMB donation each—about $50.

The whole thing had increasingly felt like a business, and I was feeling more and more like a tourist. My friends didn’t pay or were covered by their families. Before the retreat I was told I should only worry about my flight. But the point is, I see a donation as a personal choice that is prompted from within the giver, not the receiver. I handed over 100RMB feeling rather crestfallen and less interested to see the inside of the monastery.

I’ve been in these situations before. I’ve learned to react by doing what feels right. When in doubt, don’t donate.

I don’t think money sown into one school, NGO, or orphanage, at a time, has power to make a real difference. No matter how passionate or empathetic the donor might feel.

Gratitude

My travels have helped me develop a habit of ending my days, and my blog posts, with gratitude.

I am absolutely thankful for every moment of the experiences shared above. The spots we went to were remote and inaccessible to backpackers and normal tourists. I am beyond happy to have spent the days in a brand new province with a group of friends. Thanks to the choking grip social media had on everyone, I also walked away with some sweet photos taken of me. 

Above all else, my understandings and mindfulness of Tibetan culture and language, and of homeless children, were refreshed and stretched to new levels.

 

Goals

My worldview can only mature through uncommon experiences and straying from my comfort zone. Whenever faced with challenge or unpleasantry on the road, I immediately think of those who have it harder. This is why I still have a drive to go back to school and do something for the developing nations that have treated me with such unrivaled adventure and love.

I gently remind myself focus on the present. To learn about the furthest away lands that China has to offer. To write. To feel. To take care of my health and run wild and free.