Halloween

Another year, another Halloween, one of the great silly social holidays of the calendar year (up there with St. Patrick's Day, Valentine's Day and New Years). Perhaps not surprisingly this is an almost entirely American holiday (the British and Australian teachers all throw their hands up and claim not to have celebrated it back home). Understandably, it has been very slow to take hold here in China - red and orange rarely look good together.

Many of our students are curious about the holiday. We've gotten every sort of question ranging from trick-or-treating to costume choices to jack-0-lanterns. Only one subject seems not to interest the students, more out of genuine fright on the behalf of many, and that is the subject of ghost stories. More of our students than I would have guessed believe in ghosts, so stories about spirits make them especially scared.

If you're wondering, I'll be going tonight as a 'local Chinese person'. I have a pair of thick black glasses, with the lenses popped out, a tight 'I [heart] China' T-shirt and a pair of black high-top Converse All-Stars. I'm expecting it to be a hit, and yes, that's pretty standard Shanghainese wear. Happy Halloween!

Gone with the Schwinn

Mentioning China will conjure images of bicycles not seen since 1950's Italy, floods upon floods of pedal powered vehicles lined up in massive public squares. Even 8 years ago when I came there were street lanes devoted exclusively to these dusty, rusty, two-wheeled devices. Today these lanes still exist, but the steady flow of bicycles has ceased. As China modernizes no one has the time or energy to pedal their way through life, opting instead for bigger, newer, faster and decidedly less quaint means of transport.

The ratio of mopeds and scooters to bikes must be near one to one. I'd bet there are still more bikes, but the darn mopeds zip in and out of traffic, take up so much more space and make so much more noise they're darn hard to ignore. Speeding along the edges of roads, where the pedestrians cling to the safety of the nearby sidewalk, these speed demons announce their approach by blasting a loud, and often shrill horn, not just once, but repeatedly and in rapid secession until they've passed. It doesn't matter if you see them coming and choose to step off the road, they still honk just to be sure you weren't thinking of stepping back too soon. This noise and ever present danger make the scooters much more visible, and annoying, than the bikes will ever be.

The dwindling number of pollution free bikes, coupled with the growing number of scooters and automobiles (1000 new cars hit Chinese roads every day, how's that for a statistic!), might make an environmentalist white and provide easy fodder for any China basher, but the story isn't that simple I'm afraid. The public transportation system here in Shanghai is already more developed than any city in America save perhaps New York and Chicago, and they're in the process of building 10 brand new subway lines. Without a doubt the creation of affordable public transportation has eased China's bike ways, putting more people on trains and less on their own two wheels. Besides, China still has less cars per person than America does. Although I agree it is sad to see a traditional and environmental form of transportation fall by the wayside, we can't expect people to forgo comforts that most of the western world refuses to forgo as well.

As iconic as the bike is in China, it's best days are behind it. China's world is growing too much and too fast for the little thing to keep up. They'll never disappear, what with special bike lanes and stop lights just for them, but they'll never be what they were again. A very small minority of westerners have adopted the bike culture into their daily lives here in China, but personally I was too darn scared of biking with the crazy Chinese motorists nearby, which is a sentiment I imagine many young Chinese might agree with. So if you come to China, don't expect fields of bicycles to greet you - expect Honda scooters and Volkswagen taxis.

Beijing Opera, er, Rock the Vote!

Yesterday I took a morning trip down to the US consulate in Shanghai to drop off my absentee ballot for (free!) FedEx delivery to the Lexington Town Clerk's office. I can't say the line was short (took me a forty five minutes because I was in with the citizens who had real problems), but if the US government is going to pick up the tab to express my vote home, why not let 'em? Most of the other Americans in the office have either already voted, or are still awaiting their ballots to send back home, but I wouldn't call our office a buzz of political excitement.

Although there is a strong liberal leaning in the office, complete with widespread watching of 'The Daily Show', my school will not be voting exclusively for Obama. Somehow a republican managed to get a passport, much less a visa, and is teaching in my school in China. As you might imagine, in a country known for sudden disappearances of political dissidents, he keeps his conservative beliefs muzzled.

In fact, aside from the occasional jib here and there, it would be a little difficult to tell the political leaning of our office. I attribute it to the general gag order placed on us teachers over anything vaguely political in our class rooms spilling over into the teachers office. Half our teaching team is native Chinese and, although they are all extremely open minded people, nobody wants to overly state any positions which a co-worker may find offensive.

Still the students are curious, with open elections being so foreign to them. Sure they claim they have elections just like us, but the reality and the impact of the two elections is so different, its like rice and potatoes. While US elections discuss issues and generate smear campaigns with massive public and private funding going to generate ads to inform every individual, Chinese elections focus on promises like, "increasing harmony, development and well being" but failing to mention any sort of specifics on how they plan to do this. It's not an election year here in China (it rarely is), so I can't comment on any first hand knowledge, but judging from my students knowledge and involvement in politics, I struggle to believe they are ever qualified to make informed and knowledgeable decisions which can effect any sort of predictable change.

In the end, I almost wonder if the students are more interested in American politics than their own. They are, after all, allowed to be critical of American politicians, and disagree with positions (who could disagree with, "increasing harmony and well being?"). This, however has mirrored a lot of what I've seen in China: a greater curiosity in western culture than their own. This may explain why I passed seven (7! I counted!) Starbucks on the one and a half mile walk from the consulate to my office. The world will eagerly watch over the next few years to see if the fascination with all things western extend to the political arena as well.

Quomolongma

The list of geological features in this world that we expect every man, woman and child on this planet to have heard of is quite short: the Sahara Desert, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, the Grand Canyon and for good measure we'll add the Amazon to that list. Mt. Everest, or Qomolongma as the Tibetans say, is also on that list, as the tallest mountain in the world. I saw it.

I recall as a child looking at a 3-D topographic map of the world, running my fingers of the tiny orange and yellow bumps that denoted mountain ranges in the US and Europe. On the other side of the map was a block of white, the only block of white on the whole map really, which represented the Himalayas, and everyone knew the name of the biggest bump. Mount Everest, and the entire Himalayas have existed in my mind as something I know exists, but had always seemed more like a scientific fact than a real place you could actually see. Yet if you're willing to ride along the bumpy, dusty, unpaved roads over the mountain passes of central Tibet, it just sits there, waiting to be seen.

Approached from Tibet (which is much easier than approaching from Nepal), the mountain lies at the end of a long canyon, at the far end of a large nature preserve, at the far end of the world. Not noticeably higher than other mountains in the region, nor vastly prettier (they're all snow capped mountains, so what more do you want?), Mount Everest somehow awes the viewer, commanding any onlooker to contemplate his or her place in the world. Perhaps knowing it was the tallest mountain influenced my thinking, but thousands of years before I had arrived the Tibetans had given it a name meaning "Goddess of the Earth", so I don't think I'm the first person to stand at a loss for words for this mountain.

I could tell you about the monastery at the foot of the great hill, or the tents we stayed in that night, but compared to staring at one of the things on 'the list', staring at a thing completely stationary for hours on end, none of the other things are all that memorable. The only movement is in the clouds, which blow on and off the summit at an alarming rage. When we summited a mountain pass where we should have been able to see the mountain from, but we greeted with heavy cloud cover, my heart sank. Then, after 2 hours driving closer and closer, we rounded a bend to discover the great mound staring back at us, surrounded by baby blue sky. The rest of the day involved the mountain playing peek-a-boo with us until, after an exhausting mile and a half stroll, darkness claimed the mountain back.

If all my pictures look pretty much the same, its because they are. I've found when I'm unable to capture the beauty or awe of a location in a single picture, I'll try to make up for it with a greater quantity of pictures, which explains why I have about 70 near identical pictures of this great pile of rocks.

I guess the most surprising thing I found was how easy it was to get there, to the big white bump on the map. In some ways it feels like checking off something on a to do list (perhaps because this was indeed an item they came up with in the movie "The Bucket List"). No matter how or why you get there, it's an impressive mountain to see.

At a close, I wanted to mention that my Red Sox were just eliminated from the playoffs in game 7 by the Tampa Bay Rays. I'd been coming in early, listening to the games online, but today when my parents called on Skype, offering to point their laptop at the TV so I could watch the game, I was thrilled and privileged to see at least one baseball game this year live. Chatting with my parents as the game went on (lamenting that Pedroia didn't bunt in the 8th), it was as close an experience as you can have to watching the game with family while still being separated by most of the Northern Hemisphere. The Sox lost and their season is done, but at least they went out fighting.

Senseless Beauty

Tibet, the roof of the world, has a landscape that might not seem out of place on the moon. It's a hauntingly beautiful place, filled with spectacles of wondrous beauty, but also a place which seems so lifeless that it lacks the usual call of the wild - for someone who loves camping, I was surprised to find myself more than content to rumble along the dirt roads in the back of a Land Rover. Yet despite being a less than ideal place to plant your rhododendron, the landscape is awe inspiring. In business they say, "do one thing and do it well". Tibet's landscape does three: Lakes, Mountains, People.

Leaving Lhasa on the scenic rout our tour was ushered past two of the most beautiful lakes I've ever laid eyes on. Climbing over our first mountain pass, we were greeted with a view on the other side of Yamdrok Lake, one of Tibet's four holy lakes. Sitting on a yak at the top of the pass, looking down over the lake, I realized the lake is more blue than any other water I've ever seen. A deep turquoise blue, the water changes colors as the sun and clouds play on it. Continuing along we came across another lake, this time a man-made lake, built up by the hydroelectric dam downstream. Usually I'm opposed to the formation of dams, but this lake's color can only be described as stunning. I'm worried people won't believe my pictures aren't photo shopped when I show them. We walked up (getting rather breathless from the altitude) a little hill on an outcropping which separates the lake into two halves. I could have spent hours there, watching the clouds move across the water beneath me. I don't know why the lakes are that color, likely bacteria, or minerals or old Tibetean magic, but whatever the reason I don't really want to know. Tibet might not be a land rich in natural colors, but I'm happy to remember the color it does have, a stunningly vibrant blue.

But what Tibet is known for, as the roof of the world, is it's mountains: the incomparable Himalayas. As an American, I'm not used to measuring height in meters, plus 8000 meters (or 8840 meters - the height of Everest). This, coupled with standing atop mountain passes at 5000 meters, make it very hard to contemplate just how high these mountains are. But yet looking at these mountains, covered in snow, rising above the rocky, brown fields, they command a respect, exuding a prestige, which somehow reminds all who look upon them that these mountains are so much higher than any of their brethren around the world. These mountains are not kind, soft or cuddly. Starting above the treeline they seem to rise more sharply, more purposefully than other mountains - the creation of the violent collision between India and China (is there a metaphor there?). If we could attribute Tibet's beauty to one thing, it is these mountains, stretching closer to the heavens than anything else on earth.

Then again, Tibet is one of the joyful places in the world where humans have had a positive effect on the landscape - sometimes. Without fail, at the most beautiful locations throughout the region people have distributed and strung brightly colored prayer flags. As the foreground to the breathtaking scenery, the prayer flags inject much needed color into the otherwise plain (perhaps even at times bleak) landscape. The little houses with whitewashed walls still smack of authenticity and simplicity, seemingly oblivious to the skyscrapers which dominate the rest of China. Ruins even litter the landscape, remains of forts, buildings and structures occupied by nomads and lords of bygone eras. My guide never could pinpoint the exact date of these ancient looking structures, perhaps which made them all the more mystifying in my mind. Yet, let me not proclaim all the actions of humans in Tibet beneficial. I often saw garbage and debris littering the yards of the quaint little houses. Over time, the prayer flags fade, looking more like rubbish than holy instruments. Yamdrok Lake is slowly being drained for hydroelectric power. Can Tibet preserve it's beauty under China's 'modernize or else' watch? I can only hope.

I've never been anywhere like Tibet before. The vegetation is sparse, the land nearly unlivable, the air thin and the winters cold, but that doesn't stop it from holding a magical feeling over its visitors. The sky is blue, just like it's water, and the mountains are always covered in snow. Perhaps better suited for a Salvidor Dali painting than this earth, Tibet's beauty is steadfastly unique.

Sinocize

Tibet is part of China. Regardless of whether you think that's right or fair, it's true and it's not changing anytime soon. We can be outraged at the way China treats the area, and we can be outraged by the way it came into China's possession, but in the end its as unrealistic to protest to free Tibet as it is to protest to free the Seminoles - its a little late and its not going to change anything. Instead I think we're better off learning about the topic, something I found is strangely easier to do in China than I thought.

The first thing everyone needs to understand in America is that we've all been brainwashed. It's true. We like to think that with our free speech and open information we all have the ability to hold unbiased opinions, and while I agree we are more disposed to holding unbiased opinions, we far too often don't. As much as I hate to admit it, when it comes to China there is a western media bias. Now it certainly isn't as bad as the Chinese media's bias, and most of the terrible things they report about China are true, but there is also a distinct lack of respect given to any positive strides China takes which in my book is the equivalent of Fox's 1990's 'it bleeds it leads' approach. Its possible for us to breakthrough this mindset, but only if we're aware of it.

We also need to examine what state Tibet was in before the Chinese invaded. Tibet was a strict religious state with controlling systems similar to that of feudal Europe. In short; lots of people were slaves. I didn't know this until I came to China, but it's true. The US seems to loath religious states (except for Israel), so our love affair with this one certainly seems odd and out of place. The fact that slaves did exist in Tibet in 1950 is not only shocking, but justifies how China can look at itself as a liberator of the region.

Nor has China idly been sitting by, letting Tibet rot. The Chinese have built airports, train lines, roads (although if you saw the road running to the Nepalese boarder, you might think they need to step up their efforts). They've built tunnels and bridges and provided much of the region with electricity. I have no doubt without Chinese help Tibet wouldn't be anywhere near as advanced as it is today.

But this is not to say that China is some sort of savior in Tibet. The Cultural Revolution was especially hard on Tibet, as countless statues and artifacts were destroyed in an attempt to smash the religious fascination that grips the region. More recently, these influx of developments have been seen as an affront to Tibetan culture, with hydroelectric dams being built on the most holy lakes and sweeping boulevards laid down through the center of old cities. The Chinese even built a giant square with a horrendously ugly monument to the people directly across from the Potala Palace, stamping an unmistakable 'this is China' claim in the neighborhood.

The advances of business have largely been profitable to mainland Chinese, transplants from other provinces, creating a class like division among the people. Instead of benefiting the local Tibetans, most of the new business and development has been targeted at boosting the economic standing of the migrant Chinese to the region. Understandably there is disgust between the two populations of Tibet, and neither side is innocent. Many of the Chinese immigrants were poor laborers from other parts of the country looking for a better life, but that doesn't stop Tibetans from occasionally violently causing damage to property and lives, aggression which is naturally confronted with brute (and often excessive) force from the Chinese government.

Walking the streets of the old town of Tibet, patrols of soldiers armed with riot gear and automatic weapons pass like clockwork every 3 minutes. It seems an inordinate amount of 'peace keepers' with an inordinate supply of weaponry for an area not at war. If you look at the bottom left of this picture, you'll see the gentlemen I'm referring to. The soldiers look young, no older than 20 years old, standing among hoards of unarmed civilians while they tote machine guns and riot batons. It feels uncomfortably wrong.

China isn't going to leave Tibet. Hoping otherwise seems to be a silly expectation. What we can hope for is that China can treat Tibet, and the Tibetan Culture with the respect it deserves. That means developing Tibetan businesses, not desecrating holy sites and removing soldiers from the streets. Oh, and being able to take a little criticism and protests without going postal on us might help.

A Palace fit for a King

Perched on a rocky upcraging in the middle of the city, standing as a constant reminder of Tibet's culture and, to many, it's struggles, is the Potala Palace (not to be confused with the Polenta Palace, a great northern Italian restaurant on 5th and Main). The building holds itself 13 stories high, but resting on the only rocky upwelling in the otherwise flat river valley the palace appears to be a 30, which for a building largely erected in the 1600's makes it the original skyscraper. Inside, the building houses a stunning collection of Buddhas, Mandalas and countless reliquaries stocked with dazzling delights. My visit was a glimpse into one of the fascinating times when a society rallied around a common cause during a time of prosperity to create something lasting and beautiful.

The most impressive part of the compound, the Red Palace, was constructed to house the numerous relics, tombs and texts of the Dali Lamas. The centerpiece of the structure is a grand meeting hall, where the Dali Lama could meet with a large collection of monks. Interestingly, most of these large halls were much darker than I expected, lit only from above on perhaps two sides, as there were no windows at ground level.

Other rooms house hundreds of small statues, donated by the people of Tibet for hundreds of years. The immense wealth of the Dali Lama and his government (most of the statues in the Palace were carted away by the Chinese when they invaded in 1949, only a fraction of the original treasure remains), was almost exclusively donated by the people of Tibet as a means of resolving family disputes. Rather than giving a precious stone or sculpture to one son instead of another, Tibetans would give any precious artifacts to the temples and monasteries when they died. As an added bonus if someone prayed to Buddha using the statue you gave, some of the prayers would rub off on you too!

Yet the finest display of the accumulated wealth was in the burial stupas (tombs) of the 5th-9th Dali Lamas. These tombs, roughly contemporary to Napoleon's in Europe (the earliest, biggest and most impressive was constructed about 1690), are the most elaborate funerary structures I've ever seen. Towers of gilded gold covered in rare and precious stones stand upon golden lion-like demons, housing the remains of these holy men. Truly wondrous burial monuments are rare in this world, but this palace holds some of them. The picture here isn't from the Potala Palace, because photography is forbidden, but is instead the stupa of the 10th Panchen Lama in the Tashilhunpo Monastary in Shigatse.

Across from the Red Palace is the White Palace, or the living quarter of the Dali Lama. Though only a small portion is open for viewing, visitors are afforded the chance to see the reception room, where the Dali Lama would receive visitors and confer with is officials. The room is splashed with colors everywhere, from the paintings on the support beams to the brightly colored prayer cushions to the bright yellow hat which sits waiting for the Dali Lama's return. The crowds shuffle through the room, pushing ever onward (as the Chinese are wont to do) without offering the faculty to look around and admire the incredible detail and beauty the room bestows. It is one of the rare rooms we stand in knowing full well that important events in history were decided at our feet.

The palace is a beautiful place, its white and red walls towering above the city. It is market by a combination of history, which surrounds every room, and intense relevance evidenced by the pilgrims who still bring yak butter to fill the candles in the chapels with on their pilgrimage to Lhasa. From the first time I'd ever seen it on TV, watching a documentary of the far off wonders of the world, I was fascinated by the awesome aura that seemed to be emitted by the building, which I now feel fortunate enough to have seen first hand.

You must be Jokhang

Lhasa is divided into two main sections - the Chinese half and the Tibetan half. At the center of the Tibetan half is the Jokhang Temple, the most holy site in all the land. Encircling this temple is the Barkhor, or the pilgrimage path traveled by hundreds of devout Tibetans each and every day. Finally, radiating out in a maze of alleyways is the old town of Lhasa. When walking these streets, I rediscovered a strange feeling that rarely found anywhere else in China (no it wasn't just the shock of seeing scores of roaming soldier brigades armed with riot gear and machine guns strolling through the neighborhood). I felt like I was somewhere that had an old storied culture.

With sturdy buildings, looking like they expect to be there for years, uniformly whitewashed and towering above the narrow streets lined with shops, stalls, pilgrims and tourists, the city felt like it had a purpose. Bustling with vendors (and soldiers) the streets were a maze of goodies, giving way from tourist wares to practical items the further the distance from the Jokhang Temple. I saw dozens of watches soaking in basins of water - to prove they're water proof. I saw giant wedges of yak butter, waiting for the devout pilgrims to purchase a chunk to offer in the temple. I saw the people of Tibet encircling and prostrating before the temple, waiving thier prayer wheels and purifying their sins. Eastern Lhasa is a city full of life, a city caught between Capitalism and Buddhism, which is why it is so fascinating.

The two simple pleasures I enjoyed most in Lhasa were the tea houses and the pool tables. Scattered throughout the old town like pebbles thrown in a lake, the tea houses were little more than dark empty rooms filled with benches and a TV. The seats nearly all faced the screen, and for 1RMB you could get a glass of sweet milk tea, a much better price than Starbucks, but the wireless internet was a bit spotty in some of the shops (I'm kidding some of them didn't even have lights). Most eyes were glued to the terribly old kung-fu movies they showed; one tea house was showing what must have been Jackie Chan's first film, another an even stranger movie about kung-fu fighting underwater pigs. Of course the movies were in Chinese and without any sort of English subtitle, so I can only guess what they were talking about. But the clear indication from every one of these tea houses i visited (i perused no less than 3 of them during my time there), was that a westerner coming into their humble shop was not an everyday occurrence, yet again nothing they hadn't seen before. Perhaps having dodgy milk tea in an dirty cafe in Lhasa wasn't the best idea for my stomach, but the place had character, which is all you need to tell me.

The other simple joy in Lhasa were the pool tables outside the Sera Monastery. If you've ever seen the debating monks on TV, this is the place they do it (though sadly not so much anymore after the government crackdown on the number of monks in Lhasa after last March's events). Yet humorously enough perched outside this temple is a string of pool tables under a summer's party tent. After consulting that the price was fair - 1RMB/game, or the cost of a cup of tea, we decided to play a few games in the afternoon sun in front of the holy monastery. Alas I believe the monks had to prepare for prayers, and I somehow doubt they'd have been pool players anyway. The tables might not have been perfect, and the direction of the ball off the bumpers was anything but predictable, but we muddled through to win a grand time. I highly encourage outdoor pool and wonder why it hasn't been exported back to the US.

Lhasa, at least the old half, is a charming city. As the religious center of one of the most religious countries, regions, whatever you will, it exudes a cohesion of purpose that few other cities in the world can match. Though I certainly fear, like most great cultural landmarks, that the old town will be come more Disneyland than Holy Land, but for now, thanks to the unending river of pilgrims to the Barkhor, the city's culture lives on.

Rome of the East

Lhasa is kind of like Rome, but for Tibetan Buddhists - the city eats, sleeps and breathes its religion. Although not the sight of any great religious events, Lhasa is beyond question the home to the holy sights and centralized institutions that fuel religion in the region. In Tibetan Buddhism (refereed to simply as 'Buddhism' from here on, I can't be bothered to keep writing it out) there are three main types of holy structures - monasteries, temples and palaces. Although Lhasa houses 2 of perhaps the 3 most important monasteries in the country, it's the other buildings that set it apart: the Potala Palace, imperial home of the Dali Lama, and the Joakin Temple, the most holy site in all of Tibet.

The monasteries, founded in the 14th century under the 2nd Dali Lama, house the monks and are the center of religious teaching for the region. Monks come to learn from greater monks, study the holy scriptures and then return to their outlying villages to guild others and practice Buddhism. Most of the red-robed men seen running through the streets and buildings of the monasteries are not yet monks - a monk must meditate in singular silence for 3 years, 3 months and 3 days (or about 3 years, 3 months, 2 days and 23 1/2 hours longer than I'd make it), before they are ordained as full monks.

As far as I learned, Buddhist teachings can cover broad ideas of life, yet are quite simple in many ways. When praying, a person is not to pray for individuals, such as an ailing relative, but rather for the survival of all living things because all souls are equal and shouldn't be rank ordered. I find this idea extremely noble and amazingly worldly, yet extremely difficult to fulfill when I attempted to practice it - inevitably I found my mind relapsing to thoughts of friends and loved ones. Other beliefs come off as easier to understand. When praying, a Buddhist will often, with hands steeped, touch their forehead, lips and chest before kneeling (or prostrating) to bow. This is to purify the mind, words and body; ideas that are echoed in the holy items found in all temples: praying to statues for the body, scriptures for the words and mandalas (circular sand artwork is an example of these) for the mind. I find, coming from a Christian background, that the desire to purify mind, body and speech can easily be translatable to most religions.

Fortunately for me, my guide Jimmy, was born and raised a Tibetan Buddhist. He carries a locket with his masters picture around his neck. He doesn't eat meat (it involves killing souls) and he didn't want to lie to us (he told us not to buy anything at the store the tour went to because it was a bad value). He was the perfect guide to teach me all about the fascinating religion. After learning at his feet for a few days, I can understand why it's allure entices many minds, both western and eastern, to study and practice it.

2 for 1

And I'm back from my 10 day trek through the Himalayas! I never thought I'd be so excited to be returning to mainland China, but after any long, tiring vacation I guess we all want to go home, or at least somewhere relaxing and familiar. A bonus I completely overlooked about my trip was that by visiting both Tibet and Nepal, it was like 2 vacations in one - the countries are very different geologically, culturally and socially.

The biggest shocker was how different the landscapes of the two countries looked. In the fall Tibet's valleys, which can be lush and green, are broad swaths of golden barley hay, harvested into piles, while at higher elevations omnipresent dust dominates all it touches (which is everything). I've seen Tibet described as a 'surreally beautiful place', and I couldn't agree more - its mountains are beautiful and majestic, supported by brightly colored prayer flags of the Buddhist Tibetan people, but aside from those awe-inspiring towers of rock and snow - the landscape is bleak and desolate.

Nepal, meanwhile, is greener than the Saudi flag. Seriously, after you pass out of the mountains and descend on the windward side of the great Himalayas, the landscape is bathed in green plants of every sort and type, it's a legitimate rainforest. This greenery, heightened by Tibet's sheer lack of living plants, is a refreshing relief after the dusty dirt roads of the mountain passes.

The cultures of the two countries are different too. Tibet, although independent for many years, has received Chinese influence for much of its existence (including it's introduction to Buddhism in part). Nepal, meanwhile has been influenced by India and Great Britain as an extension. The difference is obvious in building style, personal appearance and even signage - most of which are in English in Kathmandu, where as its much more mixed in Lhasa.

Even though they touch, these two countries have been largely separate for most of their existence, even today there is only one long dusty dirt road that connects the two countries. They grew up differently and, unexpectedly at least to me, remain very different to this day.