Timely to tour Tibet

CHINESE rule has not stamped out traditional Tibet – just don't mention the Dalai You-Know-Who, writes Chris Parkin.

Tibet ... a curious young monk

WE'VE only been in Tibet for 15 minutes and already the girl ahead of me at the airport is crying. Four Chinese customs officials are examining her passport, as though it might offer some clue why she would smuggle in contraband material.

Note to Lonely Planet editors: When producing a guide book for the annexed Kingdom of Tibet, whose government in exile is not recognised by the Chinese and where many spiritual icons are still strictly forbidden, don't start with a full-page preface from the Dalai Lama.

The customs officials make a great show of tearing out the offending page, which makes our tour party – most of whom have the identical book – nervous. But we finally make it through customs and pile into our mini-van for the ride into the capital, Lhasa.

The Chinese Government claims 87 per cent of Lhasa's population is Tibetan, a statistic which suggests that the Chinese Government hasn't visited Lhasa recently. Driving into town I saw nothing but homogeneous grey office buildings connected by kilometres of Chinese strip malls, and my initial impression of Tibet was that it didn't seem particularly, well, Tibetan.

A brief walk fixed that. In the centre of this bustling modern city sits a preserved pocket of old Tibet. The Barkhor is an area surrounding one of Buddhism's most revered religious sites, the Jokhang Temple.

Everyone walks around it in a clockwise direction – something I discovered the hard way – and while the devout prostrate themselves in front of the temple, hundreds of stall owners spruik their wares; everything from horse saddles to human skulls.

Despite the inevitable Chinese guards and surveillance cameras, the area is a heartening snapshot of traditional Tibetan life. The smell of yak butter tea drifts from the cobbled alleyways as children run past giggling at the sight of a Western face.

In the hour I wander alone through the streets I am welcomed into a house for tea, beaten in a card game and invited down a dark alley to play pool with a monk. It is a simple and interesting afternoon.

After four days acclimatising to the altitude in Lhasa, we pile into a fleet of four-wheel-drives (the only way to see most of Tibet) and start towards the border with Nepal.

Buddhist good-luck swastikas adorn the doors to mud houses and colourful prayer flags whip around hilltops. Every few hours we have to stop as yak herders usher their mighty and surprisingly delicious livestock across the road.

Tibet's poverty is much more obvious outside the city. Each village we drive through brings children running from the fields and houses, their palms outstretched.

In Shigatse, Tibet's second largest city, we are given a warning before visiting the famous Tashilhunpo Monastery. It is the largest functioning monastery in Tibet but apparently some of the monks work undercover for the Chinese Government.

We are reminded not to discuss politics in public and never to mention the Dalai You-Know-Who. Compared with the rest of Tibet, the Tashilhunpo Monastery survived the Cultural Revolution relatively unscathed.

There is still much damage, however, and like most monasteries throughout Tibet, refurbishments are well under way. The Chinese are overseeing the work so the original Tibetan wall paintings are being "touched up" to include Chinese history never originally there. Thus, Tibet is a place you should visit sooner rather than later.

From Shigatse we continue south across vast plains until the top of a mountain pass reveals the sight we've all been waiting for. The road to Qomolangma (as Mt Everest is known in Tibet) stops 8km short of Base Camp.

From there it is either an excruciatingly bumpy horse and cart ride or the strangest walk of your life. I opt for the walk and after 1km I am exhausted. The altitude (I'm now some 5200m higher than Brisbane's Queen Street Mall) renders my legs weak and clumsy.

Everest Base Camp is a kind of shantytown of tents huddled around the world's highest, and arguably most foul, public toilet.

I check in to a teahouse – a process that involves throwing my pack on the nearest empty bench – and as I politely force down a cup of yak butter tea, the tent fills with sherpas. I soon learn that they have literally just come from the summit of Everest.

They seem amazing blase about it and none of them even bothers to take off their boots before settling into a game of cards.

Sherpas have an interesting relationship with Everest. While it is of great spiritual significance, and accorded due respect, it is also something of a cash cow. Sherpas' salaries are already very high by local standards and include hefty bonuses for getting their clients to the top. In addition, many sherpas pick up spent oxygen canisters on the way down which they recycle for cash.

The landscape of Tibet is breathtaking, but it is the people who make it so special. Despite having every reason to be bitter and suspicious, all the Tibetans I met were welcoming.

But their culture is constantly under threat. Within months a new railway will be running directly between Lhasa and Beijing bringing more Chinese visitors, more Chinese migrants but few obvious benefits to Tibetan life. Meanwhile, the monasteries and forts are rapidly being rebuilt so China can welcome foreign tourists without having to answer questions about their past.

Tibet is an incredible place for its scenery and its rich culture. The scenery, at least, will be there forever.