then we followed one of the nearby valleys which would clearly bring us over the Himalayas. This region was not well marked on our map, and we learned from the natives that we had already passed the frontier when we crossed a certain bridge known as Sangsam. During all this part of our journey we had on the right of us Riwo Phargyul, a beautifully shaped peak more than 22,000 feet high on the crest of the Himalayas. We had reached Tibet at one of the few places where Tibetan territory extends into the Himalaya range. Of course we now began to be anxious and to wonder how far we should get this time. Luckily no one knew us here and no unkind official had warned the people against us. When questioned we said we were pilgrims bound for the holy mountain of Kailas.
The first Tibetan village we reached was called Kyurik. It consisted of two houses. The next, Dotso, was considerably larger. Here we ran into a number of monks—more than a hundred of them—in quest of poplar trunks which they were going to carry over the pass to Trashigang and there use for one of the monastery buildings. This monastery is the largest in the province of Tsurubyin and the abbot is at the same time the highest secular officer. We began to fear that our journey might come to a premature end when we met this dignitary. However, when he questioned us we said we were the advance party of a large European force that had obtained official permission to enter Tibet from the central government at Lhasa. He appeared to believe us and, much relieved, we continued our journey. We had a gruelling climb to the top of a pass called by the Tibetans Büd-Büd La. This pass must be over 18,000 feet high. The air was unpleasantly rarefied and the ice-tongues of a neighbouring glacier were to be seen below our route.
On the way we met a few Bhutias, who also wanted to go into the interior. They were nice friendly people and they invited us to share their fire and drink a cup of rancid butter-tea with them. As we had pitched our camp near them, they brought us in the evening a tasty dish of nettle spinach.
The region through which we were travelling was completely unpopulated and during the next eight days of our march we met only one small caravan. I have a vivid recollection of one person whom I encountered on this stretch of road. This was a young nomad, muffled in a long sheepskin coat and wearing a pigtail, as all Tibetan men do who are not monks. He led us to his black tent made of yak’s hair where his wife was waiting for him. She was a merry creature, always laughing. Inside the tent we found a treasure that made our mouths water—a haunch of venison. Our host gladly sold us a portion of the meat for an absurdly low price. He begged us to say nothing about his hunting or he would get into trouble. Taking of life, whether human or animal, is contrary to the tenets of Buddhism and consequently hunting is forbidden. Tibet is governed on a feudal system, whereby men, beasts and land belong to the Dalai Lama, whose orders have the force of law.
I found I was able to make myself understood by these pleasant companions, and the feeling that my knowledge of the language was improving gave me great pleasure. We arranged to go hunting together the next day, and meanwhile made ourselves at home in the tent of the young couple. The nomad and his wife were the first cheerful and friendly Tibetans we had met, and I shall not forget them. The highlight of our host’s hospitality consisted in producing a wooden bottle of barley beer. It was a cloudy milky liquid which bore no resemblance to what we call beer, but it had the same effect.
Next morning the three of us went hunting. Our young friend had an antediluvian muzzle-loader and in a breast-pocket carried leaden bullets, gunpowder and a quick-match. When we saw the first flock of wild sheep he managed laboriously to light the quick-match by using a flint. We were anxious to know how this museum-piece of a gun would function. There was a report like thunder and by the time I had got clear of the smoke, there was no sign of a sheep to be seen. Then we saw the flock galloping away in the distance; before they vanished over the rocky ridge some of them turned round to eye us with a mocking glance. We could only laugh at our own discomfiture, but in order not to return with empty hands we picked wild onions which grow everywhere on the hillsides, and which go so well with venison.
Our friend’s wife was apparently used to her husband’s bad luck in the hunting-field. When she saw us returning without any game she received us with screams of laughter and her sliteyes almost disappeared in her merriment. She had carefully prepared a meal from the game her husband had killed a few days before and now got down enthusiastically to cooking it. We watched the operation and were somewhat astonished when she slipped off the upper half of her great fur mantle, round the waist of which she wore a bright coloured belt, without a trace of shyness. The heavy fur had hindered her movements, so she stripped to the waist and carried on happily. Later on we often encountered similar examples of natural simplicity. It was with real regret that we parted from this friendly couple, when fully rested and with our bellies full of good fresh meat we set out on our way. As we travelled we often saw the black forms of wild yaks grazing far away on the mountain-side. The sight of them prompted our donkey to make a bid for independence: he dashed through a widish stream and before we could reach him had shaken our packs off his back. We followed him cursing and swearing and eventually caught him. Then, as we were busy drying our things on the further side of the water, two figures suddenly came into view. We recognised the first at once from his regular, slow, mountaineer’s stride—it was Peter Aufschnaiter, with a hired bearer. It may be thought that such a meeting in such a place sounds far-fetched; but is it only by certain valleys and passes that one comes over the mountain ranges, and we and Peter had chosen the most well-trodden route.
After warm greetings Aufschnaiter began to tell us what had happened to him in the interval. On June 17th he had parted from Treipel, whom he left riding into India on a horse, meaning to pass himself off as an Englishman. He had bought the horse with the last of his money. Aufschnaiter himself had been ill, but when he had recovered had followed us. He had on the way heard some of the latest war news to which, though we were living in another world, we listened greedily.
At first Aufschnaiter did not want to go with us to Gartok as he believed that we would be turned out of the country again. He thought it would be wiser to press straight on into Central Tibet and join up with the nomads there. Finally we all went on together and Aufschnaiter and I were not to part company again for years. We knew that if everything went smoothly we needed about five days to get to Gartok. We had to cross another high pass, the Bongrü La. Camping these days was no pleasure. It was very cold at night at 17,000 feet!
Small incidents provided variety. Once it was the spectacle of a fight between wild asses. The combatants were two stallions, probably fighting for the lordship over the mares in the herd. Chunks of turf flew, and the earth shook under their hooves. The duellists were so absorbed in their struggle that they did not notice us onlookers. Meanwhile the mares, greedy for sensation, danced around and the arena was often hidden in a thick cloud of dust.
After crossing the two passes we had the Himalayas behind us once more; and I was glad to be away from them, as we were at last reaching warmer regions. Coming down into the Indus valley we met a column of yaks bearing wool to India. We were struck by the size and strength of these beasts. Their drivers, too, were well-set-up youths, who despite the fierce cold were naked to the waist. Both men and women wore their fur-coats inside out with the fur against their bare bodies. They keep their arms out of the sleeves, so as not to hamper their freedom of movement. The drivers start the yaks off by slinging stones at them and keep them on the track by the same method. They seemed in no way interested in us foreigners and we pursued our way unmolested.
We marched for five successive days along the upper waters of the Indus before we arrived at Gartok. The scenery was unforgettable. It was the colours which enchanted the eye and I have seldom seen all the hues of a painter’s palette so harmoniously blended. Alongside the clear waters of the Indus were light yellow fields of borax, with the green shoots of springtime springing up near them (for spring in these regions does not come until June). In the background were the gleaming snow-peaks.
The first village on the far side of the Himalayas is Trashigang, consisting of just a few houses grouped round a fortress-like monastery surrounded by a moat. Here we again found an ill-disposed population, but they showed no astonishment at seeing us and gave
