were asked to show our travel permit. This was passed round and carefully studied by all present. There was a period of oppressive silence. The two officials slowly came out with their misgivings. Could we really be Germans? It was simply incredible that we should be escaped prisoners of war and much more probable that we were British or Russians. They made us fetch our baggage which was unpacked and spread out on the floor of the courtyard and then carefully examined. Their chief worry was the idea that we might have weapons or a transmitting set, and it was difficult to pursuade them that we had neither. The only things among our possessions to arouse suspicion were a Tibetan grammar and a history book.
It was stated in our travel permit that we wanted to go to Nepal. The idea seemed to please our questioners and they promised to help us in every way. They said we could start on the following morning and by crossing the Korela pass would be in Nepal in two days. This did not altogether suit us. We wished, at all costs, to remain in Tibet and were determined not to give up the idea without a struggle. We begged for right of asylum, hammered on the theme of Tibetan neutrality and compared the situation of Tibet with that of Switzerland. The officials stubbornly, if courteously, insisted on the conditions laid down in our travel document. However, during the months of our sojourn in Tibet, we had become better acquainted with the mentality of Asiatics and knew that to give way early was against the rules. The remainder of our discussion passed off in perfect calm. We all drank endless cups of tea and our hosts informed us modestly that they were there on a tax-raising journey and that in Lhasa they were not such exalted persons as they seemed to be in Tradün. They were travelling with twenty servants and a great number of pack-animals, so that one got the impression that they were, at the least, ministers.
Before taking our leave we stated clearly that we wished to remain in Tradün a few days longer. Next day a servant brought an invitation to luncheon from the Pönpos—as all high personages are called in Tibet. We had a wonderful meal of Chinese noodles and I think we must have appeared to be starving, to judge from the masses of food they piled on our plates. We were greatly impressed by the skill with which the Tibetans handled their chopsticks and our astonishment was great to see them picking up individual grains of rice with them. Mutual wonder helped to create a friendly atmosphere and there was much hearty laughter. At the end of the meal beer was served and added to the cheerfulness of the gathering. I noticed that the monks did not drink it.
Gradually the talk veered towards our problems and we heard that the authorities had decided to send a letter to the Central Government in Lhasa, communicating our request for permission to stay in Tibet. We were told to compose a petition in the English language which the two officials desired to forward with their letter. This we did on the spot and our petition was in our presence affixed to the official letter which had already been prepared. This was sealed with due ceremony and handed to a courier, who immediately started for Lhasa.
We could scarcely realise the fact of our friendly reception and that we should be allowed to stay in Tradün until an answer arrived from Lhasa. Our experience of junior officials had not been satisfactory, so we asked for written confirmation of the verbal consent to our residence in Tradün. This we obtained. At length we returned to our quarters happy that things had gone so well. We had hardly arrived when the door was opened and a regular procession of heavily laden servants trooped in. They brought us sacks of flour, rice and tsampa as well as four slaughtered sheep. We did not know from whom the gifts had come until the headman, who had accompanied the servants, explained to us that the two high officials had sent them. When we tried to thank him, the headman modestly disclaimed all credit, and no one seemed willing to admit the generous action. As we parted the easygoing Tibetan said something which was to serve me in good stead. The haste of Europeans has no place in Tibet. We must learn patience if we wished to arrive at the goal.
As we three sat alone in our house looking at all the gifts, we could hardly believe in our change of luck. Our request for permission to reside in Tibet was on its way to Lhasa, and we had now enough supplies to last us for months. For shelter we had a thick roof instead of a flimsy tent, and a woman servant—alas, neither young nor beautiful—to light the fire and fetch water. We regretted that we possessed nothing of worth which we might have sent to the Pönpo in token of our gratitude. We had nothing but a little medicine to offer him, but we hoped for an occasion to express our thanks in due form. As in Gartok, we had here had occasion to encounter the courtesy of the nobles of Lhasa, in praise of which I had read so much in Sir Charles Bell’s books.
As we were to stay for months here, we made plans for passing the time. We must without fail make expeditions in the Annapurna and Dhaulagiri regions and in the plains to the north. But, a little later, the abbot, whose assistance the headman had tried to enlist on our behalf, came to see us. He told us that our stay in Tradün had only been approved on the condition that we must never go further away from the town than one day’s march. We could go on excursions wherever we liked, provided we were back before night. If we did not comply with these instructions he would have to report to Lhasa and that would no doubt prejudice our whole case.
The village consisted of about twenty houses dominated by the hill on which the monastery stood. It housed only seven monks. The village houses were narrow and crowded together, but, nevertheless, every house had its own courtyard, in which wares were stored. All the inhabitants of the village were in some way connected with trade or transport; the real nomads lived scattered over the plain. We had occasion to attend several religious festivals, the most impressive of which was the harvest thanksgiving. We were now on a friendly footing with all the inhabitants and used to doctor them, being particularly successful in our treatment of wounds and colics.
The monotony of life in Tradün was varied now and again by the visits of high functionaries, and I have a vivid recollection of the arrival of the second Garpön on his way to Gartok.
Long before there was any sign of his convoy soldiers arrived to announce his coming. Then came his cook, who at once began to prepare his food, and it was only next day that the Garpön himself arrived with his caravan and retinue of thirty servants. The whole population, including ourselves, crowded to see him come in. The great man and his family rode on splendid mules, and the elders of the village each conducted a member of the family, holding his animal’s bridle, to the quarters prepared for them. We were less impressed by the Garpön than by his daughter. She was the first soignée young woman we had seen since 1939 and we found her very pretty. Her clothes were of pure silk and her nails lacquered red. Perhaps she had slightly overdone the rouge, powder and lipstick, but she exhaled freshness and cleanliness. We asked her if she was the prettiest girl in Lhasa but she modestly said no, and declared that there were many far prettier girls in the capital. We were very sorry to lose her charming company when the party moved on the next day.
We had a new guest in Tradün soon after—a state official from Nepal who came to see us but posed as a pilgrim. We felt that he wished to persuade us to go to Nepal against our wishes. He said we should be well received in Katmandu, the capital, and find occupation there. Our journey would be organised by the administration and 300 rupees had already been allocated for our expenses. That all sounded very attractive—perhaps too attractive—for we knew how great was British influence in Asia. We did not take his advice.
After three months we began to lose patience and to get on each other’s nerves. Kopp kept on saying that he would gladly accept the invitation to go to Nepal. Aufschnaiter as usual went his own way. He bought four sheep as pack-animals and wanted to go to Changthang. It is true that this was contrary to our original decision to await the letter from Lhasa, but we greatly doubted getting a favourable answer.
Aufschnaiter, losing patience, marched out one afternoon with his loaded sheep and pitched his camp a few miles away from Tradün. We helped him to carry his things there and intended to visit him the next day. Kopp also began to pack and the local authorities promised to give him transport. They were very pleased that he had decided to go to Nepal, but they disapproved of Aufschnaiter’s behaviour. From that day onwards guards slept in front of our door. But next day, to our surprise, Aufschnaiter came back to us with his
