I'd been warned about the challenges of the high altitude from the very beginning, and we were advised to ask our doctors about prescribing a special drug to be taken 24 hours in advance of our arrival. We were told we'd have to keep ourselves well-rested and well-hydrated and to avoid alcohol. We were warned not to be too active today, and the only thing on the itinerary is "rest."
Always liking to think of myself as the rugged type, I was one of only three of our group of 22 who did not come with the altitude sickness medicine. (I was a little nervous that the other two had both already proven themselves at high altitudes, while I was a newbie.)
So you can probably imagine how I've been feeling these past few days while everyone around me was discussing how and when they'd take the medicine, how they'd deal with the potential side effects, and whether it made sense to run out and buy some Chinese herbs as a backup.
To make things worse, we were told to get up early and have breakfast at 5:30 this morning in time for our flight to Lhasa. So there I was, lying in my hard hotel bed at 10:00 p.m., trying to get to sleep, thinking of how exactly I'd breathe the next morning or what signal to give my fellow travelers the moment before I collapse into a flu-like stupor.
When I did get off the plane today and miraculously remained upright as I walked through the terminal, I saw, besides the colorful pictures of Tibetan herdsmen on horses, a concession selling altitude sickness medication and oxygen bottles. But when I stepped into the brilliant (and I mean BRILLIANT) Tibetan sunshine, I actually took what might have been my first true breath of fresh air this entire trip. The sky was clear and blue, the air dry and fresh, the sunshine so intense that I felt it through my clothing. This is a big contrast to the humid, polluted air of Chengdu, which lies at the bottom of the Szichuan basin, where people were complaining of having to blow their noses continually, and one woman collapsed of a combination of heat exhaustion and the side effects of the altitude medication.
Tibet is REALLY different from the rest of China. From the airport we drove through bare, rugged brown peaks that remind me a little of the Rockies or the tundra-covered Mont Jacques Cartier in Quebec. It's interesting how in this stark landscape the Tibetans seem to put color everywhere they can: their clothing, the roofs of their trucks and buses, and their houses. As we headed through the Lhasa river valley we saw Tibetan villages in the traditional style, one-storey clay brick houses adorned with intricately painted doors and windows. Behind them stood neatly stacked heaps of sliced yak dung to be used as fuel; from every roof fluttered colorful prayer flags. We saw prayer flags everywhere in the valley: fluttering from sticks in the shallow river, crisscrossing the sides of mountains like whimsical spiderwebs. Lhasa at first seems remarkably clean and modern, but that's probably because we drove through the western part, which is pretty much the center of Han Chinese economic colonialism here. Tomorrow, once we're adjusted, we head into the traditional Tibetan quarter and (I think) ascend the steps of the 7th century Potala Palace, which I can see out of my window
. It's a long, steep ascent, but I think I'll be able to handle it. I do feel a little lightheaded and spacy, and my breathing is a little shallow, although that may be a result of getting up at 5:00 a.m. and thinking way too much about breathing. But just in case there's any trouble, there are oxygen canisters in my room.
No comments:
Post a Comment