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Ngari, West Tibet

My path to purification began in thethrough their fourth. Carrying only
home of Shiva the Destroyer - or perhapsprayer beads and a small pouch of
it was just his rubbish bin. Thenecessities, she relieved me of my
shantytown of Darchen at the foot of Mtburden, a backpack filled with
Kailash in western Tibet is populated'non-essentials' - laptop, camera, food,
with half-naked, red-cheeked childrenclothes and water.
playing in trash heaps. TeahousesEmbarrassing as it was, a lovely Tibetan
running on car battery power, with dirtwoman, eight years my junior, carried my
floors lined with old pillows, serve aspack the rest of the way around Mount
bedding for road-weary pilgrims andKailash, simply because I could not. (At
backpackers before they start on theirthe end of our kora, Yang Jing not only
kora around Asia's most sacred mountain.refused payment for her help, but
The word kora means 'pilgrimageoffered me a gift - her decades-old yak
circuit', or simply, 'big circle'. Itbone prayer beads; the only recompense I
describes the clockwise path followed bycan now offer her is this story).
devout followers of Buddhism andThough weighed down with my belongings,
Hinduism in their effort to attainYang Jin soon outdistanced me, while I
spiritual absolution for the sin ofstruggled along at the rear, making my
being alive. Throughout Tibet one canway up the bleak Drolma-La, passing the
see the faithful making koras aroundglacial brooks of Shiva-Tsal and the
temples and other holy places, thoughclothing-littered stones and macabre
none as consecrated as the 52-kilometershanks of hair that pilgrims leave to
circumambulation of Mt Kailash (known insymbolize the expulsion of their old
Tibetan as Kang Rinpoche and in Mandarinsins. With a light snow frosting the
as Shen Shan).terrain, I finally caught up with Yang
I began my pilgrimage at dawn (afterJing atop the scenic pass where she
hesitantly downing a cup of salty yakrecited her prayers.
butter tea for strength) guided by aThen with the frozen jade waters of
trail of prayer flags up the mistyGauri Kund lake below, we carefully
southern ridge to the Gyangdrak andbegan our descent. As we reached the
Selung monasteries, and then followinglower level, I was able to breathe again
the few stone cairns back down to theand the remainder of the kora was a
kora. At one point the kora brancheddelight. We crossed snow banks and
off, leading to a sky burial site, thepassed venerable elders prostrated in
place where Buddhists bid farewell toverdant meadows fed by small streams
the dead by dismembering corpses andtrickling down from the mountain's
leaving the remains for the birds ofhorizontally-banded crystal face. Later,
prey that form koras of their own farwe arrived at a smoky encampment, with
above. The proximity of a burial site ischanting pilgrims sitting around
disturbingly announced in advance by theyak-dung fires.
shredded clothes in the vicinity, andWe continued past fields of boulders
more abruptly, by the occasional humanblanketed in thick green moss before
bone dropped from the sky by said birds.taking a rest in a tea tent crowded with
I continued my journey, passing a numberjovial Tibetans. Instant noodles and
of resplendently dressed pilgrimssoft drinks were available, but I boldly
watering their horses in a shadedchoose the traditional Tibetan staples
canyon. Before long, I arrived at theof yak butter tea and tsampa, an
Chuku monastery, which hugs the western'instant' bread made from barley flour
hillside above the Lha-Chu River, inkneaded with the tea. Like most Tibetan
clear sight of the enigmatic Mt Kailash.pilgrims, this was all Yang Jing carried
Aside from being the most holy Buddhistin her small satchel during her multiple
site in Asia, it is also the source ofkoras. Tsampa may be flavorless, though
four great rivers: the Sutlej, whichit smells unwashed, but it seems to
flows to India; the Indus, to Pakistan;provide sustenance and energy aplenty
the Karnali, which feeds the Ganges; andfor Tibetans to complete 13 circuits.
Tibet's own Yarlung Tsangpo.After our rest, we pressed on through
I arrived at Mt Kalish at dusk, which inthe lush hillsides, tracing the
summertime comes at about 10pm; MtDzong-Chu river until we came to the
Kailash was bathed in ruby-red hues, aZutul-Puk monastery where most of the
spectacular site, though one soonHindus from India had set up camp. I,
obscured by drizzling rain clouds.too, might have spent the night there,
Exhausted, I turned in for the night atbut in spite of the searing pain in my
a nearby yurt on the grassy banks oflegs, I was determined to follow the
Damding Donkhang and soon after I set mysteely Yang Jing back to Darchen to
head on the filthy pillows, I fellcomplete the kora on my second day. My
asleep.resolve was rewarded when we finally
I'd been cautioned by a number ofrounded the last bend and met with a
experienced pilgrims that the secondstunning vista overlooking the Barkha
half of the Mt Kailash kora was the mostplains: the Himalayas to the south,
difficult. And, sure enough, as soon asaglow under the evening sky.
I passed Dirapuk monastery and crossedWe walked by a series of mani prayer
the Lha-Chu river the following morning,walls and inscribed yak skulls,
the route became increasinglytogether, into the setting sun. It
treacherous. The steep path eventuallyseemed a fitting way to end this epic
thinned out - as did the air - and thentale, with the southern sapphire face of
disappeared altogether among the largeKailash behind us - along with our sins.
boulders strewn about the Drolma-ChuTravel Pack
valley.A number of travel agencies and hotels
I am in my early 30s, but in no time wasaround Lhasa can arrange week-long Land
moving slower than an old woman. Indeed,Cruiser expeditions along Tibet's
80-year-old Tibetans spinning theirsouthern route past Lake Manasarovar to
hand-held prayer wheels quicklyMt Kailash for approximately RMB 4,000
out-paced me. Before I had ascended butper person. Alternatively, budget
one-third of the way up the 5,600-meterstravelers can take a three-day sleeper
of evil that is the Drolma-La Pass, Ialong the northern route, departing from
was doubled over with exhaustion. It wasLhasa's north bus station every couple
then, during this moment of truthdays to the outpost town of Ali for RMB
beneath the luminously golden face of700. Water, food and a window seat in
Mt. Kailash, there appeared before me athe front of the bus is strongly
vision. Her name was Yang Jing, my ownrecommended. From Ali's north junction
Tibetan goddess of mercy.you can hitch a ride on a 'gypsy' jeep
One day prior, I had met Yang Jing, ato Darchen/Mt Kailash, or catch a lift
Ngari local, in the company of heron one of the trucks from nearby
grandmother. At the time, both of themconstruction sites, or the occasional
were on their third kora in just threerogue bus. Permits are no longer
days. When she spotted me draped over arequired for travel in Tibet and as such
large boulder, they were already halfwayno agency should charge you for one.



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