July 20 – 25, 2017

“Ok, ok…I can see you’re upset…but WHAT IS IT, MAN?” my voice now slightly elevated, reflecting the agitation from being woken up for the 5^th time by this guy. This time, with the flash light from his iPhone beaming me in the eye, jolting me out of a slumber at 230am. A Chinese man in his 40’s, of slight build with a pot belly and sporting a tank top, smoking a cigarette, was berating me on the top bunk on our 22 hour overnight train. Previously I was awoken by him yanking at my blanket. “What??? Ok, fine…take the blanket,” I conceded, throwing my blanket down to him. “Is he drunken?” inquired Ivo, also awake from the commotion. Finally, three members of the train staff showed up to help resolve the situation. “Sir, can I see your ticket?” one of them asked me in broken Chinese English. “Sir, you are in the wrong bunk,” pointing to the vacant bunk literally an arms length away. “Are you insane?” my patience now noticeably tested. “It’s the same bunk. Who cares? We’re docking in 4 hours. I’ve been in this bunk for 18 hours and NOW he wants it? There are 3 other vacant beds. Just tell him to pick one and go to sleep. Have you checked his ticket?” “Oh, sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” she repeated profusely, obviously embarrassed after realizing that this “drunken” man was actually not even in the right train car.

The day prior, I was on a bus coming down from the Plateau, dropping 9,000 feet over 6 hours from Dawu to Xining.  I was emotional, quiet and contemplative about leaving the Plateau, yet unfazed as the woman sitting next to me jettisoned countless vomit bags out the window.  Like bombs, they would explode onto the newly paved tarmac as our bus careened down the windy canyon. In the blink of an eye, the Plateau was gone and I was back in China. Almost at a line, trees appeared. Everything was green and the flowers were in bloom. It was summer, below the clouds and storms that had chased me down from the mountains that I love. This is how I would depart Eastern Tibet, abruptly, yet only slightly smoother than how I entered nearly 3 months ago.

We got off the train in Hohhot, a city of about 2.5 million people, and found a plush hotel (that accepted foreigners) in a quiet Muslim nook of the city. All the buildings were yellow. The men wore traditional white hats and the women headdresses. Ten weeks of living simply in the Tibetan Himalayas was washed away in an instant with a hot shower and a bowl of fresh yogurt. Fancy cars lined up in all directions, waiting for the stop lights to change on the 6 lane roads. I had not seen a stop light in nearly 2 months. Culture shock was a gross understatement.

I awoke early the next morning, intent to find a park to exercise in, only to discover that I needed to get up much earlier. Two hundred Chinese people, men and women of all ages were already exercising, playing ping pong, and socializing. Fitness is a social interaction here. Motion creates emotion, and it was only 730am. I sat quietly on the sidelines and just observed. Oddly, it was the first time in my year of travel that I was actually invisible. Nobody looked at me. Nobody wanted a selfie. Everyone was busy and content with their own life. I didn’t realize how peaceful it was to just blend in. Two men, likely in their 60’s, asked if I wanted to jump into their ping pong match. Initially the competitive and social parts of me were very intrigued, until the shame part realized that I would have gotten a thorough beat down from them. They take their table tennis seriously and I politely declined.

Transitions. Like spring to summer. The Tibetan plateau to a Chinese city. Rain and snow to sun and heat. Basic living in a tent to plush hotels. Yaks and motorbikes to Audis and BMWs. Shared horses and yaks to bike share stations. With all these disparities, it’s amazing that this is all the same country.

Eastern Tibet has warmed my heart in a way I never thought possible. They are truly some of the kindest people that I have ever met. I was always greeted with a smile, warmth and kindness, and offered a meal or a place to sleep. These experiences have taught me to take stock of my own attitude and how I project myself.  Am I kind enough?  Do I smile enough?  Could I help somebody who needs it?

Each country that I visit, and subsequently leave, I take a piece with me, and hopefully leave something behind.  I am always emotional when leaving, as I am essentially leaving a place that I have called “home”.  Throughout these travels, in all the countries, it’s still the same story line. People really are just people, forming relationships, sharing a smile, and trying to get by.  I was “supposed” to be back in Colorado 5 months ago, but like everything that has happened along my journey, I chose to say “yes”. Always say yes.