Yaks, Swastikas, and a young man named Tempah

by Jose Falconi (Ecuador)

I didn't expect to find China

Yaks, Swastikas, and a young man named Tempah — the things I remember most of my time in Tibet. The adventure was possible due to two unrelated life-changing events: my sister relocating to Tianjin and me dropping out of college. It all finished with 68 cents to my name and a new kind of spring in my step. After traveling Europe extensively in 2017, I finally prioritized my own mental health and put an end to the all-too-familiar, over-priced college career. Happy with but slightly ashamed of my dropout status, I kept it secret, worked as a waiter in Florida, and saved money. Come November, my bank account was at an all-time high of $2,000. My sister had been urging family and friends to visit her in China for some time. Intrigued, I looked up flights, found a $500 round trip to Shanghai, and deemed it irresponsible to pass up such an opportune bargain. I got my visa, time off from work, brought out my North-face pack, and was off by the end of the month. The journey included a layover in Panama City and totaled about 24 hours; which I gladly filled with Civilization V, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, and some writing of my own. I arrived at my hostel at dawn, settled in and set out for a run. I enjoyed the cool morning breeze, conversed with locals flying kites on the pier, and spent the day taking in the local cuisine and architecture. The next day I met my sister in Beijing, which was wonderful in a similar, bustling fashion. However, it was on the train to Lhasa that she, my brother-in-law, and I first knew we were in for an unforgettable adventure. For two days the train climbed steadily, bringing lakes, cities, and deserts into and out of our window. We played cards, watched movies, and used Google translate to converse with the Tibetan man sharing our 4-person cabin. Eight provinces and over 3,000 km later, the Himalayas came into sight: massive, snow-capped, and towering over all other surroundings. Our excitement surged as we approached Lhasa, where we were greeted by an Explore Tibet guide. He placed white scarves around our necks to bless the rest of our journey and then gave us a ride to our hotel. That’s when the colors began their parade. Red, blue, white, yellow, and green everywhere I looked — splashed across flags, mosaics, people, and ornaments. My memories remain as vivid as the colors, yet their continuity is somehow irrelevant. It is the lore, the dreams behind the palette, a philosophy that drives its people to an unforgettable serenity that I go back to. I see a boy no older than 10, plaques tied around his hands and knees, prostrating ceaselessly around Jokhang Temple. He had started before our arrival, and I never saw him rest. I hear the gong and then monks debating in the courtyard, paired up and clapping their hands between arguments. I taste the energy drink the gamblers at the market handed me after noticing my steady gaze deciphering the cards’ logic. I smell the surprisingly pungent candles, made from yak butter, left by pilgrims at the altars, where their currency lay gathering dust. I feel the sturdy yak between my legs, also present in its meat, milk, butter, and hide — from which a young man named Tempah and his uncle made their clothes while living as nomadic shepherds. Tempah, our tour guide, had been given to a monastery at 3 years old because of his family’s lack of resources. His love for sharing knowledge and laughter never faltered through our journey. He spoke of his own pilgrimage, nomadic life, and the intricacies of the Buddhist faith. None of us expected the swastikas, but he never brought them up and we didn’t ask. They were engraved often and clearly within the temples, yet an undeniable positive aura filled every room. It was enough to distinguish them from the impostor most of us know. I scavenged 68 eight cents from my pockets on the return flight but was comforted in knowing that somewhere in the world the wickedness of that symbol is utterly powerless.