Seven Years in Tibet. Heinrich Harrer

different from that of his agent, but inside it was cleaner and of better quality. The Garpön, a high official, is invested for the duration of his mission with the fourth rank in the hierarchy of the nobles. He is in charge of five districts which are administered by nobles of the fifth, sixth and seventh rank. During his period of office the Garpön wears a golden amulet in his piled-up hair, but he may only wear this ornament while on duty in Gartok. In Lhasa he is reduced to the fifth rank. All the nobles in Tibet are ranked in seven classes to the first of which only the Dalai Lama belongs. All secular officials wear their hair piled up on their heads: monks are shaven and the ordinary people wear pigtails.

      At last we came into the presence of this potentate. We explained our case to him in all its details and he listened to us with friendly patience. Often he could not refrain from smiling at our defective Tibetan, while his retainers laughed out loud. This merriment added a spice to the conversation and created a friendly atmosphere. The Garpön promised to consider our case carefully and to talk it over with the representative of his colleague. At the end of the audience we were hospitably entertained and received tea made in the European fashion. Afterwards the Garpön sent presents to our tents and we began to hope for a happy issue.

      Our next audience was rather more formal but still cordial. It was a regular official meeting. The Garpön sat on a sort of throne and near him on a lower seat was the agent of his colleague. On a low table lay a file of letters written on Tibetan paper. The Garpön informed us that he could only give us passes and transport for the province of Ngari. We would in no circumstances be allowed to enter the inner provinces of Tibet. We quickly took counsel together and suggested that he should give us a travel permit to the frontier of Nepal. After some hesitation he promised to communicate our request to the Government in Lhasa, but he explained to us that the answer might not arrive for some months. We were not anxious to wait all that time in Gartok. We had not given up the idea of pushing on to the east and were anxious to continue our journey at all costs. As Nepal was a neutral country situated in the direction which we wished to go, we felt that we could be satisfied with the result of the negotiations.

      The Garpön then kindly asked us to remain for a few days longer as his guests, as pack-animals and a guide had to be found. After three days our travel pass was delivered to us. It stipulated that our route should pass through the following places—Ngakhyu, Sersok, Möntse, Barkha, Tokchen, Lhölung, Shamtsang, Truksum and Gyabnak. It was also laid down that we had the right to requisition two yaks. A very important clause required the inhabitants to sell us provisions at the local prices, and to give us free fuel and servants for the evenings.

      We were very glad to have obtained so much in the way of facilities. The Garpön invited us to a farewell dinner in the course of which I managed to sell him my watch. Afterwards he made us give him our word of honour not to go to Lhasa from his territory.

      At last, on July 13th, we bade farewell to Gartok and started on our way. Our little caravan, now of decent proportions, consisted of our two yaks with their driver and my small donkey, which was now in good shape and carried no more than a teakettle. Then came our guide, a young Tibetan named Norbu, on horseback, while we three Europeans modestly brought up the rear on foot.

      Now again we were for weeks on the way. During the whole of the next month we passed no inhabited place of any size—only nomad camps and isolated tasam houses. These are caravanserais in which one can change the yaks and find a lodging.

      In one of these tasams I succeeded in exchanging my donkey for a yak. I was very proud of this bargain, which greatly multiplied my assets, but my satisfaction was short-lived—the beast turned out so refractory that I would have been glad to be rid of him. I was actually able to exchange him later for a younger, smaller animal. This creature also gave trouble and it was only after having his nose pierced and fitted with a ring of juniper wood tied to a rope that I was able to keep him on the road. We called him Armin.

      The country through which we had been travelling for days had an original beauty. The wide plains were diversified by stretches of hilly country with low passes. We often had to wade through swift-running ice-cold burns. While in Gartok, we had had occasional showers of hail, but now the weather was mainly fine and warm. By this time we all had thick beards, which helped to protect us against the sun. It was long since we had seen a glacier, but as we were approaching the tasam at Barkha, a chain of glaciers gleaming in the sunshine came into view. The landscape was dominated by the 25,000-foot peak of Gurla Mandhata; less striking, but far more famous, was the sacred Mount Kailas, 3,000 feet lower, which stands in majestic isolation apart from the Himalaya range. When we first caught sight of it our Tibetans prostrated themselves and prayed. For Buddhists and Hindus this mountain is the home of their gods and the dearest wish of all the pious is to visit it as pilgrims once in their lives. The faithful often travel thousands of miles to reach it and spend years on the pilgrimage. During their journey they live on alms and hope that their reward will be a higher incarnation in a future life. Pilgrims’ roads converge here from all points of the compass. At the places from which the first sight of the mountain can be obtained are set up heaps of stones, grown through the centuries to giant proportions, expressing the childlike piety of the pilgrims, each of whom, following ancient observance, adds fresh stones to the heaps. We too would have liked to travel round the mountain as the pilgrims do, but the unfriendly master of the caravanserai at Barkha prevented us by threatening to stop our future transport facilities unless we continued on our way.

      For two whole days we had the glaciers to look at. We mountaineers were more strongly attracted to the majestic Gurla Mandhata, mirrored in the waters of Lake Manasarovar, than by the Sacred Mountain. We pitched our tents on the shore of the lake and feasted our eyes on the indescribably beautiful picture of this tremendous mountain, which seemed to grow out of the lake. This is certainly one of the loveliest spots on earth. The lake is held to be sacred and round it one finds many small monasteries in which the pilgrims lodge and perform their devotions. Many pilgrims creep round the lake on their hands and knees and carry home jars of the holy water. Every pilgrim bathes in its icy cold water. We did likewise, though not from piety. Here I nearly came to grief. After swimming out some little way from the shore I got into a boggy place from which I only extricated myself with a tremendous effort. My comrades had not noticed my desperate struggle to get clear of the mud.

      As we were, at this time of year, a little in advance of the pilgrimage, most of the people we met were traders. We saw also many suspicious-looking people, for this region is notorious as the Eldorado of robbers, who find it hard to resist the temptation to attack the traders frequenting the markets. The biggest market in the region is that of Gyanyima. Here hundreds of tents form a huge camp given over to buying and selling. The tents of the Indians are made out of cheap cotton material, while those of the Tibetans are woven from yak’s hair and are so heavy that it takes one or even two yaks to carry them.

      We wandered for some hours in an easterly direction along the lake and felt as if we were on a seaside walk. Our pleasure in the beauty was disturbed only by the midges which we did not get rid of till we were clear of the lake.

      Proceeding towards Tokchen we met an important-looking caravan. It was the new district governor of Tsaparang on the way to his post from Lhasa. We halted by the roadside and our guide, with whom we had never got on really friendly terms, made a deep, stiff obeisance and put out his tongue in greeting—a perfect picture of submissiveness. He explained our presence: weapons which had threatened us were put away and we were handed dried fruit and nuts.

      In our persons there was no longer any sign of European superiority to be seen. We lived like nomads; for the past three months we had been sleeping mainly in the open air, and our standards of comfort were lower than those of the native population. We camped and cooked and made our fires in the open, whatever the weather, while the nomads could find shelter and warmth in their heavy tents. But if we looked as if we had come down in the world, our wits were not blunted and our minds were continually occupied. Very few Europeans had been in these regions and we knew that everything we observed might have a value later on. We still thought then that we should be returning to civilisation within a measurable time. Common dangers and struggles had linked us in a close bond of companionship; each knew the others’ virtues and failings, and so we were able to help one another in times of depression.

      On