In travel, as in life, you can see the glass half full or half empty. Landscapes abominable redeemed by a look, idyllic sunsets besieged by mosquitoes, exciting adventures that end in a gazebo with poolside bar… Is in our hands, almost always, select and reset other memories. Lhatse, poblachón a Tibetan, greets us with heaps of rubbish. But, from that huge amount of filth, comes an unforgettable violinist.
As we get closer to Everest Base Camp I can not suppress such pinching stomach anticipating the great emotions. Shigatse We left first thing in the morning. A group of children, uniformed blue tracksuits, walk along the shoulder to his daily appointment with the school. It is an everyday scene, but here surprises. Resigned to get to Kathmandu with "Macario", our new driver, the wheel, I beg you to at least not if you have no visibility ahead. The day is as clear as if they had run wide the curtains of heaven, with the characteristic luminosity of Tibet traveler falls. Let camino de Shegar, But first we must ascend the gyatso-la, a 5.220 meters.
"Macario", maybe liable for warnings, does not exceed 80 kph. We advance the few Toyotas that do the same route
The Lonely Planet warns hellish road, truck languishing in the mud, of ports in winter become a trap. I decide to stop for a while ojearla. After crossing the river Tsangpo and put aside the road to the monastery Nartang, circulate along a road that seems an intruder among the glittering fields of barley. We met wagons, bicycles, walkers with baskets on their backs, peasants carrying their farm implements. We passed through towns anonymous, orphans of a poster explaining that there. "Macario", maybe liable for warnings, does not exceed 80 kph. We advance the few Toyotas that do the same route.
Very soon we run into the first detachments, that just leaves a passing lane. We trace the course of the Tsangpo tributary of the right bank to the west. A little later, the road is closed and turn onto a dirt road. The scenery is stunning. We are surrounded by peaks 5.000 grassy meters. The cuts and detours are constant. How could a steamroller up here?
Music as therapy
We left the tarmac when there are still 150 kilometers to Shegar. Now, the procession of trucks is constant. The noon, after digress for a shortcut along the river, we get there in Lhatse, a town with gas station at least out in the guide. Always comforting to locate on the map. Its main street is unpaved sidewalks have forgotten that they were. Piles of trash accumulate on either side. We stopped for lunch next to a bike shop (the Khampas are very fond of the two wheels). I do not understand. Only quedan 80 miles to reach our destination. Tenzing me back to reality. We still expect the five-six hours by car. This is Tibet.
Suddenly he hears a tune, the notes of a fiddle tune, aphonic, at times strident
We prefer to stretch your legs while "Macario" and forces reset guide. Then we are surrounded by a swarm of beggars and hawkers. The sun beats, as if we were in the final assault and seek noquearnos. The smell is intense. Many women are protected with masks. It has everything to get in the car, open notepad and write: "Garbage everywhere. Everything is shit ".
But curiosity, always curious, can more. It is about a teenage girl with a baby in arms. The small orange licks a pole that was melt in your hands. Suddenly he hears a tune, the notes of a fiddle tune, aphonic, at times strident. The improvised musician, with red cap with the visor in the neck and a ponytail-style Khampas, peeks behind the mother. Holding in one hand a long wooden stick, three transverse cuts in one end and a round box oxidized brass on the other. Two strings and a tiny bow do the rest.
Holding in one hand a long wooden stick, three transverse cuts in one end and a round box oxidized brass on the other. Two strings and a tiny bow do the rest.
The combination is very poor, but the guy gets the strings to vibrate, hear the music. A su manera, is able to turn trash into art, the filth in a symphony, but at times falter and melody in a howl despeñe. An artist, we. His music has redeemed my memory Lhatse. Much courage it takes to engage in playing the violin between garbage! I return to the book. "Garbage everywhere. Everything is shit ", leo. "Music plays a violin", I add now. The glass half full, the half empty.
Trucks in the mud
From Lhatse, rears and track honors the black omens of Lonely Planet, it remains closed, for what not to conjure the spirits of the mountain fatal. Deviations become uncomfortable routine. Dozens of workers work on improving the road. While doing their job cement, the sandbags and trying to contain landslides buttresses. Trucks and more trucks. The grim prophecy comes true Lonely Planet and one of these behemoths is stuck in the mud up the Gyatso-la, an untimely halt leaving the truck stuck also follows. We are forced to backtrack to find a way to ford the river.
Just put one foot on the ground, known a ligero vaivén. Breathe an oxygen seems spin
As we ascend the port possessed the SUV starts complaining and emits a strange buzzing that drowns when Tenzin just press the button position lights. But my concerns are focused on other mechanism, mine. As we go up, I feel like a punch in the shoulder hurgase me, increasingly harder. Just put one foot on the ground, I notice a Ligero swinging head, only three seconds of the. Breathe an oxygen seems spin. The views are spectacular Himalayas, overwhelming. I'm elated surrounded by such beauty. I did not even realize that "Macario", Two other drivers helped, is rummaging through the engine of Toyota.
Now it is down 1.200 vertical meters into a valley that never ends, crossed by a creek surrounded by peaks inviting one to stop for lunch on a brook, letting himself be lulled by the whisper of water. But after nine hours of travel, can more desire to get. Far away can guess the strength of Shegar. Who had here Lhatse violinist to play the Hallelujah us.
