Tibet Day 2
We have done very little in Lhasa except for sleep and sit around in the past 48 hours. I'm learning what helps to feel more comfortable at 12,000 feet (and a third less oxygen than at sea level):
1. Don't take a shower (at first). It will only make you sick. Anyway, sweat just disappears into thin air here.
2. Sprinkle water on the floor to counter the arid climate of the steppe. As I mentioned, sweat just disappears into thin air here. My bedside glass of water evaporated a third overnight!
3. Rest. For me, this has meant switching the TV between CCTV 7 and 9 for the sitcoms and travel shows. I am also fascinated by a western Chinese show about antiques. So far today, in between showing off their mediocre dancing and singing talents, the panel of experts discussed a bronze bowl, a jade charm shaped like a twig, and a terracotta camel.
4. Take your Diamox. Or chew your local, high-mountain plant.
5. Make yourself eat even though at high altitude food feels deceivingly pointless. Tonight over a dinner of white radish soup and sauteed yak (more on that later), we met fellow travelers including the manager of a Michelin tire plant. See, that is what you are missing when you don't eat.
Now, if only I hadn't come here already sick. I woke up several times in the night feeling like I just couldn't get enough air. I took a few, very deep breaths as if I were in yoga class and felt a little better. The locals here are flip about complaints other than about headaches, which must be in their experience, precursors to dying, or at least voluminous puking. No headaches for me.
My travel mates are all related to me and so far stumbling down this road of discomfort at mostly the same pace. I am curious to know whether most everyone goes through this rough period, or just those who share my genes?
Showing posts with label breathe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breathe. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Altitude and colds don't mix
The only thing rarer than oxygen and hamburgers in the TAR is Internet access, so apologies for these necessarily post-facto posts.
Tibet Day 1
From the instant you step off the plane onto the gangplank, it's clear something is not quite right with your lungs or your head. You notice you're taking two breaths for every step, and everyone seems to be moving faster than you. A guy on the plane who has been traveling in and out of the TAR for the past year offers this wisdom: Say little, move slowly, expect to feel uncomfortable in the middle of the night. Most importantly, don't panic.
We meet our guide who welcomes us with hada, long white scarves that he says, I'm not supposed to step on. I step on it three times as I stumble to the van with my backpack, which suddenly feels ridicuously oversized and overstuffed. I realize I should not have packed a copy of Endless Feasts: Sixty Years of Writing from Gourmet Magazine along with my collection of Chinese and Tibetan language books. I also suddenly realize all I want to do is sleep. The only thing I notice on the way to the hotel is the ring of enormous, charcoal gray mountains encircling us. They are so sharp they are like the jagged teeth of a giant, charred beast. We enter a tunnel that cuts through one of the largest peaks, and we don't see daylight for a full five minutes. On the other side, the mountains are not gray, but bright white, red or green. All along their bases, countless people have painted criss-crossing forms, white lines that look like ladders. They are prayers climbing up to the bluest sky I have ever seen.
Tibet Day 1
From the instant you step off the plane onto the gangplank, it's clear something is not quite right with your lungs or your head. You notice you're taking two breaths for every step, and everyone seems to be moving faster than you. A guy on the plane who has been traveling in and out of the TAR for the past year offers this wisdom: Say little, move slowly, expect to feel uncomfortable in the middle of the night. Most importantly, don't panic.
We meet our guide who welcomes us with hada, long white scarves that he says, I'm not supposed to step on. I step on it three times as I stumble to the van with my backpack, which suddenly feels ridicuously oversized and overstuffed. I realize I should not have packed a copy of Endless Feasts: Sixty Years of Writing from Gourmet Magazine along with my collection of Chinese and Tibetan language books. I also suddenly realize all I want to do is sleep. The only thing I notice on the way to the hotel is the ring of enormous, charcoal gray mountains encircling us. They are so sharp they are like the jagged teeth of a giant, charred beast. We enter a tunnel that cuts through one of the largest peaks, and we don't see daylight for a full five minutes. On the other side, the mountains are not gray, but bright white, red or green. All along their bases, countless people have painted criss-crossing forms, white lines that look like ladders. They are prayers climbing up to the bluest sky I have ever seen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
