.

 After a brief morning visit to the Gompa we left Sakya at noon to catch the three-o'clock ferry across the Tsangpo near Lhatse.

Map 3, From Sakya, ( Click on the map to enlarge ) across the Lhatse Tsangpo Ferry, to Camp 1 just east of Sangsang. The triangles with numbers are our camp sites

 Waiting at the banks of the Tsangpo for the Lhatse Ferry. Marc, Cornelius, Jeroen, Monique with her blue chapeau Parisien bought in Lhasa, Peter, Katrina, and Rolf, Barbara took the picture.

 The first of our Toyotas boarding the ferry and Barbara having a tour-escort to tour-escort-talk with Bart.

 The country side on the way to Sangsang — a village of a few houses — that afternoon was very beautiful...

... and when I saw this first herd of yaks silhouetted against the dark blue sky, I knew that we had finally arrived in the land of my dreams. From here on there live an average of one-and-a-half person per square kilometer, and the intensity of the light and colors is so strong that is leaves my Greek dreams in the shadow. A singular solely landscape experience. — Enjoy these images and maybe they will also appear in your dreams....  

 Our first camp near Sangsang. The campsites are marked on the maps with small triangles and a number. The tents were provided by Chinawinkel, and we had another argument with Bart that evening, who had been told to charge us a hefty fee for each — which we refused to pay to the very end.... The choice of the campsites was made by Bakhi, our cook, and by Padru, our head driver, the only two people who knew the road and where we were going.  

This was the good part of the road. We called it a "40-miles-per-hour road," because that was how fast they could drive — unless there were deep ruts, a river to ford (thank God it was late September, the rivers were low, and we had no rain ever), or the bumps became so bad that one would first hit the roof and then the seat with spine-breaking force.... The skill of our drivers was admirable, we did not get stuck once. The new Toyota spinning its wheels belonged to a travelling Chinese party of cadres. At first our Tibetan crew ignored them, but later after a long debate returned to pull them out.  

Our first gas-stop. After leaving "Metropolitan Lhasa," as a friend called the densely populated areas we had just left, there were no more gas stations. Our entire fuel was stored on the truck in oil barrels, which, of course, leaked, and for part of the way the potatoes and vegetable Bakhi prepared at night had a slight taste of gasoline.... The gas was siphoned from the truck by sucking on a hose until it flowed — a procedure which I had had to perform when I was an apprentice at the Russian garage in Habelschwerdt in 1945....  

 And then there were smoke-stops, because we had reached an agreement with our drivers, that there would be no smoking in the cars. By now you'll be able to identify the people yourself. 

For several days I was preoccupied by trying to photograph the plight of the people in this empty landscape. There are no bushes and very few rocks big enough to hide behind. Katrina on the left is looking for one and Bart too. As you'll see we eventually lost all modesty, and nobody turned to look at you when you had to pee....  

 Agha our race-driver and former star of the Tibetan opera was the life of the party. He did not only sing well he also had a tape deck in his car with wild rock music, he also drove recklessly fast — which endeared him to our young. Here, the car radio blaring they got our to dance like wild djibbuks, to exercise the doldrums and fatigue of 10 hours driving a day. Even the conservatives Bart and Pujung, the Tibetan escort, joined in. 

 In the end it was always a matter how long you could exercise that wildly at an altitude of 4000 m. Later Cornelius and Marc would buy a ball and play soccer at the rest-stops. Bart, anyway, has given up.

 Map 4, From Sangsang to the Raga turn-off, (click on the map to enlarge) past Saga, to Camp 2 on the large river (hardly visible on the map)

 The Chinawinkel plan had us follow the "Northern Route" across the Chang Tang, the Tibetan Plateau behind the hills seen here. That road turns north at Raga (see Map 4.). Padru had already made noises that the drivers did not want to take that road. It was two days longer, badly rutted by trucks, and there was really nothing to see, no gompas, no villages, only a few black nomad tents. My careful study of the ONC-maps became very helpful. I knew he was right, and what harm was there in seeing the beautiful country along the "Southern Route" twice? The rivers which can be prohibitive in Spring and Summer, were low enough to ford. Still I was not the only one to decide. So, when we reached the Raga turn-off a crucial debate ensued with our crew on strike. Obviously they also wanted to reduce their daily work load and rather play an age-old game at night with cowry shells (described in Dreams) for non-negligible monetary stakes. I finally showed-off with my knowledge of the road and had Padru and Bakhi give me an account of the number of days, campsites and hours of driving. I agreed to their wishes under condition that a majority of my travel companions would agree to this change. We had a long discussion, Marc, who was annoyed by the crew's scheming for an easier life, finally yielded. But Jeroen made a big scene, that he had paid for a trip which would visit the Chang Tang and that was where he wanted to go. I finally put him down by pointing out to him that he was one dissenter against nine, and we set off along the Southern Route. — Which cost me Jeroen's respect and gained me the total dedication of our Tibetan crew. From here on they did everything for "Baphu" and "Mami" — which would eventually save us when Katrina collapsed. Barbara and I moved into the first car with Bakhi and Padru, and from then on we decided on campsites and daily driving hours together.  

 While these serious negotiations were going on a man appeared from nowhere on a horse. When the horse got wind of us it reared and nearly dragged him off on its leash. He tried to walk nervous steed around us.....  

...until our hitchhiker from Kham got hold of the animal, swung himself into the saddle of the bucking beast and galloped off into the distance. When he returned the horse had become as docile as a lamb.... Which only showed that the Khampa, conceived, born, and reared on horses, are the superior horsemen of Tibet.

Somewhere during that day we came to the feared checkpoint of the Chinese, who were, at a distance, lying on a roof of their barracks with their girls letting their Tibetan serfs do the checking. They are squatting by the house with our rather cowed drivers. The wreck of a truck marks the boundary.... 

 Another photograph of the great Nowhere....

Bart inspected a grimy guesthouse along the way, but we protested that we wanted to sleep in our own tents. Katrina completely bundled up squats by the road side to recover from the bumpy drive.  

This led to one of the highest camps (Camp 2) on our drive at the banks of one of the many raging rivers draining into the Tsangpo. It was a very cold night, well below freezing. Here I remembered that we could use the bottles with boiled drinking water as bed warmers at night! It worked famously, and we never froze again. When the water level was the lowest in the morning we forded this rather large river. The stumps of an unfinished ruin of a bridge can be seen in the foreground, behind them rises Zhongba Peak...

 ... with 6415 meters one of the higher mountains of the Gangdise Range. As can you see, the snowline was just below 6400 m.  

Map 5, From Camp 2 (just off the map) past Zhongba, ( Click to enlarge) through the "Dunes" and Paryang to Camp 3 (Umbo). Next day across Maryam La to the Sacred Lakes. Camp 9 is the place where Katrina passed out on the way back

 From a low pass (5200 m) a few kilometers further we saw for the first time since Gyangtse the Himalayan chain again on the far horizon. Here the Tsangpo valley is about 100 km wide.

Behind Zhongba, a gompa and a few houses...

...the road enters the quickly narrowing, flat Tsangpo valley, and Tibet opens into the vast spaces which usually can be found only in the Chang Tang. We are at an altitude close to 4500 m.  

Closer to Paryang one drives through an area of large dunes interspersed with lakes. The Himalayas, now only 50 kilometers from us, is seen in the distance. 

 Here the Tsangpo spreads into a large lake....

 ... Dri, a cross between yaks and cows, and horses graze on the sparse grass. These pastures are reserved for these animals which cannot feed on the short yak grass at higher elevations.  

The metal sculptures in the foreground were the remnants of a truck which had got stuck in the swamp earlier in the year — perhaps at night? On our way back we had to negotiate this confusing, near road-less area at night, a major feat by our drivers....  

Camp 3 near Umbo

Dinner in the kitchen tent on a very comfortable, warm campsite near Umbo. There was even a shallow river near where one could take half-a-bath before dinner....  

 Baphu and Mami before sunrise at Camp 3....

and the overwhelmingly dramatic view of the high mountains around Anapurna when the sun broke rose under the clouds riding on an inversion layer.  

 An hour later a yak caravan appeared from the void. The yaks carry the household belongings, including awhile prayer flag of the nomad family. The men rode horses and .... 

 the women kept their sheep together — accompanied by vicious dogs, one must avoid at any cost.

Umbo turned out to consist of a small gompa and two black nomad tents, smoke rising through hole of the tent. The Tsangpo source is the hills beginning to show at the left.

Map 6, From Camp 3 east of Maryam La across the pass, (Click on the map to enlarge) on very bad road to Camp 4. Then through Horqu, past Lake Manasarovar (Marpham Tso) and Kailas in the distance to Thirtapuri (Camp 5), and on across the two high passes (6000 m) to Thöling and Tsaparang on the following two days (see next section).

 Maryam La, Agha giving a dramatic performance with the horns of a wild yak at its lhato on, the last pass on the way to Kailas. His companions did not cheer, wild yaks are dangerous animals, besides the horns are the attributes of Yama — the personification of Death. Padru assured me that there were still a few wild yaks around, "but you don't want to meet them..."

The drive down from Maryam La was despite the beautiful views one of the lesser pleasures. On a very poor road Agha started a race with Padru which I stopped when Padru was beginning to take cross country shortcuts...

Bakhi and Agha searching for a good spot for Camp 4 at the western side of Maryam La (just west of Horqu). It was late and raining in the distance. The cook's helper is looking for a running brook for drinking water.  

 Around camp 4 now it looks like snowing, but we never saw a flake or a drop.

 Camp 4 west of Horchu. That night we decided to continue driving past Kailas to Thirtapuri, then go to Thöling and Tsaparang, and only on the return stop a Darchen for the Kailas Khorla — circumambulation. In this way we would gain five more days to get used to the altitude (4700 m at Darchen) before we would walk across Dölma La (5700 m) the pass on the Khorla. 

 Peter's portrait of Marcus the Explorer

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 Between Maryum La and Horchu one passes this lhato from where one sees Kailas and Lake Marpham Tso—Manasarovar for the first time. The mountain is the tiny, white triangular peak on the right, the lake a dark blue brushstroke on the left horizon. Here begins the great beyul — the Buddhist Paradise, the retreat for the persecuted and spiritually lost in this world.

 Even a tele-lens did not make this arguably most sacred mountain in the world any more impressive. It is its pyramidal shape that makes it portentous and the fact that from its vicinity spring the four largest and venerated rivers of the Subcontinent: the Indus 20 km to the north, the Tsangpo-Brahmaputra a few kilometers south of this spot, the Sutlej, which drains Lake Marpham Tso— Manasarovar and Lake Lamga Tso—Raksastal, and the Kali River, which has its source near Burang and is a major tributary of the Ganges.

To the south of the sacred lakes rises Mt. Gurla Mandhata (7726 m). It is a thousand meters higher than Kailas (6675) and strictly dominates the plain between them, but it doesn't have Kailas' crystalline shape.  

  "Pappi," said Cornelius, "are you happy now? We have arrived."

 Here are the four Gro(h)sses leaning on each other.

Unfortunately my favorite blue Manasarovar vanishes from sight behind a low range of hills, We wouldn't see it again until a week later we camped on its shore..

Horchu—Horqu 

Horchu (Horqu in pinyin spelling) boasts of three houses. A Tibetan Gypsy had laid out her wares and all town congregated around us. Barbara had brought along a collection of beautiful buttons which she now distributed and flamboyant Agha was targeted by the Gypsy... 

...who soon had draped a turquoise necklace around his neck and was trying to sell him a pair of earrings to top it off. He couldn't afford either.  

On leaving Horchu we encountered a group of pilgrims returning from their circumambulation. Imagine, in the past the pilgrims walked here on foot all the way we had come or across the Himalayas from the hot plains of India....   

 Everywhere there are numerous streams and there used to be a rich fauna of gazelles and yaks, sacred animals which no Buddhist would have killed. We still saw a few gazelles, but motorized poachers with automatics have decimated them to a few specimens....  

 Pardu and Bakhi had timed our day so that we would have lunch directly below the mountain....

... and Darchen barely discernable in the distance above Agha.

In the afternoon we raced along this superhighway west to the end of the world. The tip of a single peak and the poles of a telephone line to the horizon promised life on the other side of the earth... This insignificant bulge separates the waters that reach the Indian Ocean on east (Brahmaputra) from those on the west (Indus) of the Indian subcontinent.