The Paradox of Experience

It seems that the more you experience, the more you begin to have the experience while you are doing the experiencing, "hey - I am feeling pleasure, I am enjoying this food, I am enjoying this swim, I am enjoying this show, or wow I am suffering under this hot sun, I am freezing in this snow, I am hurting after that accident"...and so on. But the more it happens, the more the "I", the experiencer, becomes separate from the experience, the symptoms, the feelings. The "I" doesn't change. I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel pain, I feel pleasure, but "I" am the same person after the experience as the one who started it. There is some part of me - that much bigger part of me, that stays constant. I survive the ordeal in the desert, I survive the war, I survive the 5 star hotel - I survive the Dom perignon. But at the end of the day, I am still here, unchanged for all that drama, unchanged for all that experience. And I don't quite get it each time, but after a hundred or a thousand times, I start to realize that whatever is happening happens outside of me, and for better or worse, I come through unscathed. So what happens? Eventually, the experience and the experiencer begin to separate, and a witnessing begins to happen. You can sort of detach from the pleasure or pain, recognize that it is happening, but that its not happening to YOU, its sort of happening around you.

This leaves us with a sense of I am I and you are you, we are we - whatever you want to believe that means. But this perspective gives us a wonderful sense of freedom from the cycles of pleasure and pain that we were raised on and trained in. It gives us the freedom to be who we are, and takes the pressure away to pretend to be something we are not. If you realize that the external stimuli are external, that they are happening, but not to you, then you can unattach from them, and they slowly lose their significance like air leaking from a balloon. If you then are not busy trying to experience everything, then you are free to be who you are, and really make a difference in this world. It also allows you to accept where you are in life, no matter what country you are from, how much money you have, what your job is - those become simple variables that modify your experiences, and why do we care how we modify something that is as fickle as the summer breeze, and that blows through us, leaving us unchanged?




How does this relate to travel? Well, travel is pretty much all about the experience. The desire for new sights, new foods, new pleasures, new thrills, new discoveries. We get bored with the day to day and want to take a vacation. Just let loose for a while, drink a cold beverage on the beach. Or maybe you want to see a new culture, learn a language and volunteer in a new community and help your fellow human. When we travel we gain new experience, and we think that experience forms us, makes us who we are and gives us our character. Yet, we already are formed, and that part of us, that part that is really us, lies above the experience - when we can bring that US to the world and the experience, we then start to make a real difference. The paradox is that in order to become aware of this other "me" I have to go through all these hundreds of experiences in order to re-cognize that we exist outside of all this, even though we are exquisitely entwined with all this - and that is sort of tricky. I want to taste the ripest mango on Java, want to find the butteriest dal-fry in Himachal Pradesh, want to volunteer in a medical clinic in the Nubra Valley, want to meditate in Hemis Gompa, want to soak in remote onsens surrounded by snow monkeys, want to trek through virgin Borneo forest, do kora around the navel of Tibet, watch the monsoon arrive in a sleepy village in the Keralan hills....And as I do these things, and all the other things in my life, I slowly realize that there is no end this way, there are always other Himalayan peaks, snow leopards, new foods, new remotest villages, and even if I can travel to the ends of the Earth and experience it all, I will still be me, right here. At that moment, we are truly free to decide what we really want to do, no strings attached, because, as we find out, there are no strings in the first place.




Experience and having it all are not the goal, but we have to have the experience to get free. Travel compresses this process, providing maximum new and challenging experience in small amounts of time-space. Thus it becomes a useful tool for becoming "you". When you can take a trip and be the real you, and stay in character, that is the rub. Then you are not running away, but being YOU.

I Think Therefore I am Not

Ladakh is one of those special places - look it up on a map and it is impossibly far from anywhere, nestled high in the Himalayas, along the banks of the Indus, near the old silk road. It is influenced heavily by Tibet and Buddhism, yet exists in a cloud at the top of the Indian sub-continent. It has been the scene of a centuries old power struggle between influences of Islam and Tibetan Buddhism and was not open for foreign visitation until 1974. Ladakh retains much of the Shangri-la qualities that are becoming increasingly difficult to find. As you survey the gompas and sprawling capital city of Leh while the effects of hypoxia cloud your brain, you are struck by the stunning beauty of the place. The main valley is dotted with gompas, terraced fields of buckwheat line the river banks, and the whole scene is dominated by snow capped giants and azure skies.




We arrived there in mid October - a bit late for the Ladakh "season", but on purpose to avoid the tourists of summer. We planned to do some trekking, probably through the Markha Valley, expecting good fall colors, cool days, and an empty trail. As we provisioned and began inquiries as to the status of the trail, we learned that the snows had come early this year. In particular, the region, normally bone dry had received a rather severe blizzard in September, the Manali-Leh road was closed for 3 days, with several buses and cars stranded, and several people died from exposure in snow several feet deep. As is typical for India, especially remote off the grid India, we were getting various different reports as to the conditions of the Gongmaru-la, the highest point and critical pass of the trek at 5306 metres. We were going light, and were not carrying snow gear, crampons, etc. and we were trying to avoid walking in hip deep snow through sub-freezing temperatures. The preferred direction of the trek is to cross the pass from the Markha side, as you have a steep descent on the last day, rather than a steep ascent to the pass on the first day, but due to the conflicting information and potentially dangerous conditions, we decided to travel to Hemis Gompa and on to the tiny village of Shang to begin the trek. The day we left, we heard rumors that the last group to attempt to cross had turned back at the pass due to blizzard, and the mountains were freshly powder coated in white.

Hemis Gompa is the celebrated seat of the Drupka Tibeatn Buddhists in Ladakh. It is also called Chang Chub Sam Ling or "the lone place of the compassionate person." It is very old, and is constructed as a 3 dimensional mandala, making it all the more auspicious. It is even rumored that Jesus spent some of his 30 "lost years" studying here. If you pilgramige here, and wander up the creekside trail, and sit under the prayer flags in meditative silence, you will have no doubt about the power of this valley, and you will get a taste of the real Ladakh, that feeling of Shangri-la, a lost place of peace that feels like a true oasis in this crazy world of ours.

But I digress. We walked down from the Hemis valley, feeling very clear and alive. We walked the 15km to Shang along a most incredible river gorge. The silence was such that it made your ears ring as my brain searched for a sound to hold onto. It was late in the day when we arrived. The workers were coming in from the field as the sun set over the mountains. There was a camp set up by the river, the porters were setting up the mess tent, and two trekking tents were set up with some exhausted looking trekkers laying flat, feet protruding from the door. We asked the guides how the pass was - knowing that the answer was not going to be good. They said it was hip deep snow, and super icy on both sides of the approach, and this was from a secondary pass, not on the main trail. Add to this it started snowing again, and the temperature was close to freezing down here some 1600 meters below the pass.

I began to realize that for all my planning, all my thinking, a whole trip arranged around doing a trek in Ladakh, we were going to be turned back within 10 miles of the goal. Fly to Delhi, fly to Leh, acclimatise, provision, bus to Hemis, trek to Shang, where we now sat. It was so close I could taste it, my wife was less enthusiastic after hearing reports of hip deep snow. And even though the trip was now for all purposes impossible, I still clung to its idea, and tried to "figure out" how we still could do it - in other words, I could not let go - could not detach, I was losing the battle with my ego, running in mental circles.

We camped in the town gompa's courtyard, snow falling gently. At 4am, in the crisp cold darkness, we made our way to the back door of the gompa for morning puja with the one monk who was in residence. Three of us sat in a 5x7 foot room, adorned with traditional tibetan buddhist thangpas, horns, cymbals. The butter lamps flickered off the painted, carved ceilings, and our misty breath co-mingled in the cold air. The monk began the puja, chanting and reading the ancient texts, drumming...

After tea, we walked up to the old gompa. The snow blanketed the hills, the old gompa sat perched 1000ft up a side valley, the walls arising out of the rock. Standing atop, the views were stunning. Blue sheep toed the brown crags, and the prayer flags rippled in the wind.




How did we get here? Where were we actually? Somewhere along the way, I thankfully lost my mind. I had stopped wondering why we couldn't trek, when we were so close, and had come so far, stopped being attached to that idea, that random idea, that that was better, that was right, that was meant to be. I did not know any of that to be true, after all, as my wife pointed out, we could have been walking 15km with wet feet through freezing snow, all while we gained 2000m in elevation. But the point is, while I was thinking, worrying, obsessing, being attached, I was never here and now. While I was living in my head, I was missing where I actually was, and what was actually happening. I had to learn to relinquish control of a situation over which I had no control, and never had any control of in the first place.


The famous phrase that launched the modern era of scientific deconstruction, and human misplacement in the world: "I think therefore I am", shot us out into an orbit from which we are still trying to recover. When we are thinking, where are we? What are we? Deep in thought? Lost in thought? Day dreaming? We certainly are not PRESENT. We are not HERE. I am, when I am in the moment, smelling the air, enjoying the view, enjoying where I am, what is happening. When I give up control, which I never really have anyway, everything is comes easy, it flows, it is enjoyable, not painful. So, if you find yourself stressed out or find yourself lost in the hamster wheel of your mind while you are trying to figure it all out, just take a deep breath, go outside and check in, smell the flowers, sit in the sunshine. Let go of thought and control, and feel alive - otherwise, what are we all really doing here?

Places like Ladakh always have lessons to share, this was mine this trip; I think therefore I am not. So as we sat drinking butter tea on the roof of a gompa, breathing rarified air, 100 kilometers from nowhere, I gave up control and that was what my wife had been telling me all along.

The Wheel of Life

The world is a crazy place these days...it seems out of control, and beyond our control. The media tells of global economies failing, volcanoes erupting, climate changes, wars, civilian casualties, unimaginable hardships in Africa, overpopulation, starvation, inequity of resources and wealth, even inequities between our fellow humans - how can we change it? How can we help? What can we do? It overwhelms the mind. Some even talk about the end of the world...



Yet somehow, our situation is not unique, and the world has been crazy before. Circumstances always exist outside of ourselves, sometimes we say they are "good", and sometimes "bad", but really they are just circumstances. An alignment of the stars may be responsible, but what can we do about that? Life is full of drama, and worries, and purpose, and hope. We struggle against an unknown enemy just to survive here, as we have done since our human brain became big enough to recognize itself. Yet, what is really so different between now and then? Yesterday and today? We are endlessly caught in the web of duality, of comparison, of preference. Rich and poor, black and white, night and day, us and them, war and peace, happy and sad, right and wrong - its overwhelming to have that kind of choice every moment of every day.

What is constant here? Where is the solid ground? How can we focus? Whether you are running a country or a household, whether you live in a cave or on the streets, whether you have family or are alone, whether the volcano erupts or not, the sun still sets EVERY night. Everyone can step outside of the box and see or feel that time of twilight, when the light goes soft, and the colors awaken. It is the same in Garapan, and Los Angeles, and Varanasi, and Lhasa, and Cuzco, and Narita. The traffic, the television, the harvest, the election, the monsoon, the war, are all external, and these externalities have been running for eons, and it would seem we do not control them.

We are here now, wondering what to do, when all we really can do is to live - eat a warm meal, smell some flowers, gaze at the clouds, watch the sunset, help a neighbor, feed someone. No matter what we believe in - these are constants. When we stop worrying about the external, we focus on living. Escape the virtual reality - for it is not real. See through the great ponzi scheme that floats around us. Embrace this life, and re-discover what we came here to discover. We can turn off the tv, and the world wide web, and walk out of any doorway, and become the same. Money does not matter in that place, nor does race, nor does hunger. That place is united, not dual, and it feels like home. In that place there is peace, there is warmth, there is food, there is comfort from the storm. The beauty is that we can go there anytime we want, because there is always right here, just behind the sunset, just out the door, always in our hearts.



Tibetans paint the wheel of life on every gompa. That symbol expresses these ideas in a one complete, complex picture. It represents this ever turning world, and how beings evolve and move through it towards liberation. This wheel of life is constantly spinning, its centripetal force keeps us in it. We all find ourselves in different places, different situations, different distractions. When we know that the grass is not greener, and that there is nowhere to GET to, we gain the strength to let go, be ourselves, and get down to our business. Let the wheel keep on spinning - it always has, always will and always does. Things always happen, and life goes on spinning. Step back, take a deep breath, and enjoy it wherever you are.

Mount Kailash Kora

The old man wore a sun hardened, wind worn face, a beaten leather jacket, a necklace of dzi beads, shells and ancient turquoise. He walked forward, his hands never stopping, working his mala. He stopped, looking at the mountain, placed his hands together in prayer, and bent down on hands and knees, forehead scraping the earth as he lay in full prostration, all the while chanting softly the mantra: “Om Mani Padme Hum.”

The Kora around Mount Kailash in Western Tibet is considered by many one of the holy grails of this planet. Whether you are there as a prostrating Buddhist, or Hindu on pilgrimage to Shiva’s throne, or just a traveler looking for some inspiration, the sacred mountain calls you. Kailash’s pyramid of snow juts into high altitude sky, and its rainbows of prayer flags send their offerings on the breeze. The kora is 50+km clockwise trek around the mountain with the start and finish in Darchen, a frontier town in Western Tibet.

You cannot fly here; the only way in is by jeep, bus, bike or hike. Most pilgrims opt for the jeep or bus, since Darchen lies more than 1000 kilometers west of Lhasa, and over 700 kilometers northwest of Katmandu, Nepal, the nearest feasible airports.
If you ever make it all the way to Darchen, you probably are here for kora.













The kora takes you 50+ kilometers clockwise around the peak. Thousands of pilgrims flock here to advance their sadhana. You will see grandpas and grandmas, infants, and everyone in between, walking, or prostrating to the high point at the Domla-la, over 5600m.


Along the way you can camp, or stay at the gompas or parachute tent camps. From the Drirapuk Gompa, you can walk to the Kangkyam glacier, hanging off the north face of Kailash. Standing on the blue ice, at the headwaters of the four rivers; Sutlej, Brahmaputra, Karnali and Indus, one cannot help but feel that this truly is the center of the universe. Four major religions consider this mountain sacred: Jain, Buddhist, Bon-Po, and Hindu. The kora around this abode of the gods is considered extremely auspicious. In fact, it is said that one proper kora can rinse you of a lifetime of sin – complete 108 koras and you may find yourself strolling the fields of Nirvana, enlightened beyond your wildest imagination.



As I sit at home writing, Kailash and west Tibet become one of those places that defy imagination. So remote, so high, so spiritual, that details quickly retreat behind layers of cloud. Kailash is such a place that leaves you wondering if you ever actually touched the ground there. Huge skies, electrically blue, ear ringing silence, and thousands of Om Mani Padme Hum’s fluttering in the wind leave you breathless. Standing at the top of Dromla-la, 5636m above sea level, I hung a set of prayer flags in offering to the Mountain for safe passage, to a friend that he would vanquish his cancer, and to the Gods that I was even given the chance to breath the air in such an amphitheater.

Ancient Buddhas

This is a cool visual metaphor that can be experienced in the meditation caves in the ruins at Guge, Tibet. The erosion in the mountains inspires the 1000 buddhas in the monestary art.









See my post here http://truenomads.blogspot.com/2007/09/ancient-kingdom-of-guge.html for more details on that trip.

Sunset on Shangri-la

With all the hype around China these days, I wanted to write a bit about Tibet. Eastern Tibet is a jewel on this planet, and due to government restrictions, remote location, and no real transport options, it remains a gem, fortunately and unfortunately, tucked away from most. Western Tibet is raw power and open space, a place that humbles you immediately. The east is the true Shangri-la, white energy, peace, and a heaven on earth. It is mountains and rivers, hidden forests and glades, yellow aspens, blue rivers, serene lakes, and undisturbed monasteries. The sun is warm, and the wildflowers sway in the delicious breeze. It is quiet, unraveled, and unknown. There is more untouched wilderness there than almost anywhere on the planet, with gorges so deep and inaccessible, no one even knows where they are or what lives there.

We scored a land rover from Lhasa that a travel company had to return to China proper at the end of the season. We spent a week getting back to the border, stopping along the way at some sites, some random villages, and it was like a dream. There are many country villages, farmers, herders, and nomads, living in the old way, and the whole place exudes serenity. Of course you have to get there, from Lhasa, you have to cross a big mountain range and some heavy plateau, but then you drop into the valleys, and through the time warp. The air is filled with juniper smoke, the thukpa is savory, and most locals are
smiling. The hamlets are set in jaw dropping scenery, with some of the most beautiful light I have ever seen. The air is quiet and remote, just standing outside and breathing makes you slow way down and tune in. If you want true adventure, there is endless exploring to do if you can swing it, but there is very little network or support. You could walk into those forests for months on end.

Along the highway, Chinese influence is spreading, but the valleys are deep and vast. Until you cross the Mekong and pass 6700m Meili mountain, you are in a forgotten world. Slowly, as the pavement improves, you are pulled out of the daydream and slapped back into reality. The border of modern China advances daily with the road, and military and construction vehicles plow the way. It is like a giant mechanized steamroller, overlaying the bucolic country with asphalt and steel. Entire towns are plowed under, and retrofitted with the “modern” look. To see the Tibetans, true nomads in woolens and beads, faces weathered by altitude, sun, and wide open space, standing lost in front of a mini-mart is a cruel juxtaposition that is hard to get your mind around.

Change is inevitable in the world, that is how life goes, but when it is un-natural and ahead of schedule, we lose things that we don’t understand. Evolution and growth are natural processes, with steps to be taken along the way, and we see what happens when we skip steps and rush ahead. Whenever we cheat to get to the finish line faster, we always have to go back, because, after all, finishing is not the ultimate goal. We are where we are, and if we don’t fully understand why we need something “better”, maybe we should slow down, and put one foot in front of the other. To walk and progress and actually feel each step, feel the ground under you, and be fully aware, that is the process. Tibet is a land steeped in the mystery and as it changes in the name of modernization, we obscure a major path in our spiritual evolution. Yet, mystery can only ever be
obscured and hidden, never lost or destroyed - that is what you understand when you look, listen and feel the depth in the nomad’s eyes.

The Ancient Kingdom of Guge

Imagine an immense canyon system carved by the mighty Sutlej River and its tributaries, located at 12000feet above sea level, at the far western edge of Tibet. From the Zanda overlook, canyon folds stretch to the horizon, which is capped by snowy white Himalayan peaks. The colors range from electric blue sky to innumerable shades of sandy browns on the canyon walls. It for sure is breathtaking and awe-inspiring. You are on your way to visit the ancient Kingdom of Gu-ge(pronounced goo-gay), miles from any sort of civilization, a true adventure.

Prior to entering western China, I had never heard of the Kingdom of Guge. We were recovering from the epic 48-hour bus trip over the mountains from Karghilik to Ali, deep in western Tibet. We hadn’t really planned more of the trip from here, first because there were many doubts and rumors circulating about if we could actually enter Tibet from the west, and second, due to a dearth of information about what actually exists west of Mt. Kailash. But there we were, without a guidebook, until a Korean tourist said that her book recommended going to Zanda – the ruins of the ancient Gu-ge kingdom were listed as the number one attraction in all of China!

It turns out that the kingdom was established in the 10th century along the banks of the Sutlej River at the bottom of this tremendous canyon system. It was an important and powerful center of commerce and Buddhism for 700 years, and then it mysteriously disappeared. There are theories of outside invasion or internal political strife leading to its demise, however, a sense of mystery still surrounds the place and the ruins left behind.

The “modern” Chinese town of Zanda is located near the site of the Tholing monastery, and the major ruins are located about 14 miles down river at Tsaparang. Guarding the bridge over the river is a small Chinese army outpost. Tholing, roughly translates to “hovering in the sky forever”, and is an ancient monastery perched alongside the river cliffs. The oldest monastery in Western Tibet, it has been renovated several times, with the main hall being the most well preserved. Outside, lay rows of brown earthen stupas, worn by wind and water erosion, and of course the ubiquitous prayer flags, adding color to an otherwise barren landscape.

The major ruins in Tsaparang are impressive. Hewn out of the sandstone, the buildings climb up a ridge to about 12,800feet. There is an entrance fee, maybe about 20USD, and much less for Chinese nationals. I can’t remember the exact amount, because in this case, it really didn’t matter. The ruins and setting are that impressive. Once you pay your fee, you can climb up stairs carved into the sandstone and explore the meditation caves, rooms that served as dwellings, temples, and even the palace complex at the top. There are several well-preserved monasteries that the caretaker will unlock for you to explore. These are rather amazing in themselves, as they contain some of the best-preserved examples of Tibetan Buddhist art. It seems that during the Cultural Revolution in the 1960’s, the Chinese left much of Gu-ge undisturbed, as it was a “dead” kingdom and posed no direct ideological threat. So luckily, we can see rare examples of a Tibetan monastic art that has not been entirely replaced or renovated.

The Road To Tibet

Tibet – a name that means so many different things to so many different people. It conjures images of prayer flags, remote monasteries, and of course the Potala. I wondered about it myself for many years, always wanting to go visit, but never having the universe align enough for me to get there. I had been within 50kilometers as the crow flies in Ladakh and Spiti, but there were always 6000meter mountains and sketchy international borders obstructing a safe passage.

Tibet is far away from everywhere, it’s cold, it’s high, and it’s clouded in secrecy and rumor. Tibet is a place known as the spiritual center of the world by many and yet its culture and religion are aggressively suppressed by China. The struggle between China and Tibet is ongoing– with Tibet fighting to keep its identity under enormous cultural pressure and oppression from China. Everyday, China is literally paving and bulldozing over any remnant of Tibetan culture and wilderness.

Tibet has long been a strong and independent kingdom, existing on the edge of nowhere, a high altitude plateau of electric blue sky, harsh winds, and endless mountains. In this stronghold, Buddhism found a foothold, and along with it, stories of Shangri-la, with pathways through the mountains to heaven, and esoteric orders of monk who levitate and feel no cold. Through some combination of these forces of deep spiritual mystery and longstanding oppression and independence, Tibet becomes a confusing place. Attracted by the spirituality, the ritual, and the clarity of vision that occurs at 5000meters on people-less plateaus, I wanted to join the Tibetan experience. Yet, travelers told tales of abuses, Chinese bureaucracy, fines and permits. They told me I would be supporting the oppression by spending my Yuan as a tourist – that Tibet is no longer Tibet.

Of course, I had to go see this mystery for myself. A place like Tibet, mythological already, is too tremendous to resist, and I had been to Dharamsala and realized that the energy of the place could not fully cross the mountains with the exiles.

Karghilik is a sort of little Chinese outpost along the Silk Road - dusty, full of grapes, donkey carts, and hidden Uygur adobe houses. The mosques lay behind a maze of alleyways and storefronts selling everything from honey to gold. The people are Uygur and Han, and I don’t really know what goes on there behind the scenes. There are plenty of trucks into Tibet and China, and the town is a main bus stop along the southern Silk Road route. The entire town has been face lifted with modern Chinese avenues, glass, and metal – and of course the ridiculously large central square, that is empty but for a few children’s rides. This would turn out to be an ominous foreshadowing of what lay ahead in Tibet – a systematic destruction of culture and place recognition by simply rebuilding modern China over modern and not so modern Tibet.

Yet still, beyond all of this, lies the mystery. At the edge of the desert, just over the mountains, lies the way into western Tibet. The edges of Karghilik stop abruptly, and the dry dusty ascent into Tibet beckons. I was a little skittish hanging around town waiting for my ride into Tibet. There were true stories of people being “sent back” to Kashgar by the Chinese PSB. There were rumors of roadblocks and bus cancellations, but all of this just added to the proper sense of adventure and intrigue on going to a place with such a reputation. And, who could doubt that the power and spirit of such a place would ever bow to a piece of paper, or a regulation set by man. Tibet’s spirit lies beyond the reach of such mundane inventions, and it continues to inspire and shine through any darkness. Of course, no papers were necessary, its just a border after all, another imaginary line on a map, and this one isn’t even on most maps.

In a cold October wind blowing dust into the sunset, I set off on the Tibetan Antelope, like an illegal immigrant, paying 700 Yuan for a bus ride into Shangri-la.