Eat, Pray, Love

The second week, as Zoe found her normal self back, we stepped out of the hotel into the streets and markets of Lhasa. I still wasn't keen to take the steep climb up to see the Potala Palace. For the next three days, we just hung around Lhasa, absorbed the neighborhood, and interacted with locals mostly. We dined at local restaurants and drank a lot of tea daily. I also ensured we were suitably layered so as not to catch a cold. It was cold but surprisingly not windy like in England.

The visit to the Jokhang temple was a different experience for Zoe. Their praying style was different. The men and women laid a thin mattress on the floor and bent on their knees with palms together in a Namaste. Then they would lean forward until they were prostrating. Then they would rub their nose on the ground paying obeisance before rolling back up until they were on their knees, joining palms together again. All this while, they chanted in low humming notes in praise of Lord Buddha.

Another frequent sight around Lhasa were men and women, usually in religious clothing, but had this hand-held rotating cylindrical prayer wheel. As they walked about, they were whirling it in their hands, chanting and praying as they walked about, doing their chores - "Om Mani Padme Hum" which translates to "Praise to the Jewel in the Lotus".

Lord Buddha is at the foundation of the religion and faith of Buddhism. King Songtsen Gampo, during his reign, brought Buddhism to Tibet from India, in an effort to act as a binding religious force for his vast kingdom, and his subjects.

The two Buddhist priests, who had come from India, were sent across Tibet to spread the message of Lord Buddha and his teachings. Eventually, Buddhism spread north of the Himalayas across China.

Considered one of the holiest temples in Buddhism, a peace-oriented religion, the Jokhang temple has had its share of conflicts. Legend has it, King Songtsen - a Hun - had two wives. One each from Nepal and China and realized both wives were Buddha devotees, albeit a different form of Buddha - one paid obeisance to young prince Buddha - Sakyamuni, and the other to Akshobhya, wisdom Buddha. Both Buddha statues were deified in this temple, and that's how Buddhism found a foothold in Tibet.

On our tenth day in Lhasa, I asked Zoe if she wanted to see the famous Potala Palace. She was all for it. Potala Palace is a world heritage site and the seat of the Dalai Lama until the last one eloped to save his life from the Chinese. It was a fortress converted into a palace. Built at an altitude of 3700 meters on the side of the Ri Marpo mountain, it towers over the city of Lhasa.

Currently a Palace of Art, Potala plays an important role in Tibetan culture and symbolizes the traditional administration of Tibet. If Potala Palace is the highest castle palace in the world, then Tibet is called the roof of the world. If one stands on the portico of the palace, one would know why it gets this moniker. You can see the two monasteries on either side - the famous Sera and Drepung monasteries. Only the mighty Himalayas surrounding Lhasa, with their snow-capped peaks, are higher than this place and belittle even this high-placed palace.

The air up at the palace was rather thin, and one wonders why it was the Winter Palace for the Dalai Lama. I did not want Zoe to exert beyond a point, and immediately after the Palace tour, we trudged back to our hotel. No more activity for the day. The spa in the hotel was for a good reason and we made excellent use of it.

Potala is the official seat of the Dalai Lama. The Chinese had attacked and occupied Tibet some seventy years earlier and the current Dalai Lama, still a child at the time, had to escape to save his life. Choosing one set of high peaks over the other, he set up camp in an Indian town in the Himalayas, Dharamshala. Perhaps in the boundaryless world of a saint the Himalayas were his abode.

We reserved the next day for Sera Monastery. Our guide prompted us to see the Debate Courtyard. I doubt one would see a real-life debate of the kind we saw. We reached early to enter the courtyard. Slowly, as if trickling in, the monks with their maroon and red robes strolled in. One after the other they picked a cushion from the stack nearby and laid them in the courtyard. It took no more than half an hour, and the courtyard was full of monks - debating. The unique style of their debate - often a religious debate, about the scriptures - cannot be understood by tourists or local Tibetans alike. But the format was rather different. Spread across the Courtyard, the Monks debated in pairs, with one sitting on the cushion and the other, standing in front of him, raising the question. The one standing would clap loud before pulling his garland of beads on the shoulder, apparently to indicate that he, too, is a learned man. Then the one standing, animatedly, asks his question, often insisting. The monk on the cushion is surprisingly calm and responds - almost always - in a low tone explaining his point. On and on they go, to and fro. And there are hundreds of these monks doing the same thing across the courtyard. As we left the Debate Courtyard, we felt smarter, but not from the answers of the debate.

We went around the university-style monastery and saw the Great Assembly Hall and the gilt image of Bodhisattva - a man on the path of enlightenment.

Back at the hotel after the trek, we rested for another two days before doing a day trip to hermitage and nunneries around Lhasa. The most formidable of those was Pabongkha.

By the time we were done with Lhasa, both Zoe and I were suitably acclimatized to the altitude. I had already established contact with a disciple of Monkhoev who lived in a large compound near the Yarlung Tsangpo River. The place had no phone. I had earlier sent a messenger from our hotel to inform him about our situation and the delay.

Day 119

On our twentieth day in Tibet, we left Lhasa for the Yarlung Tsangpo region in a Toyota SUV. The two-hundred-kilometer ride seemed longer than the eight-hour flight from Shanghai to Lhasa. The road might have been in shambles, but the scenery more than made up for the perilous ride. The landscapes were picture-perfect, and the drive down the longest and deepest canyon in the world was a sight to behold. Some parts of the road were not for the faint at heart. Zoe and I did not dare look out the window into the deep gorge and snuggled together on the other side of the SUV as if our weight would hold the bobbing vehicle on the road and steady it to balance.

Five hours later, we entered the most idyllic compound I had seen and expected no less. Bstan welcomed us personally at the gate. He must have been able to see our vehicle from a distance. It was the only one polluting the entire valley's clean air, and the engine's noise disturbed the natural habitat of the wild.

Our driver bowed deep in front of Bstan, who just waved his hand toward the driver.

As soon as I saw Bstan, I bowed in front of him around my waist and brought my hands forward with a hold-palm salute, a conventional martial art gesture to address a fellow fighter.

Zoe followed my lead abruptly with her first formal salute.

Bstan bowed with his hold-palm salute and then, in a low but clear English, said, "Welcome."

Bstan, from his looks, was about the late fifties, but his gait and demeanor defied his age. He was slim and wore a maroon robe. His long black hair was neatly combed back, into a ponytail. The wrinkles around his eyes were telltale of his age, but he was sharp in every manner. Zoe later told me, "Bstan looks like the Karate Kid movie's character who plays the teacher."

The driver left us later in the afternoon, immediately after having some soup, to reach back to Lhasa before nightfall. We all ate soup together, and it seemed no one else was there in the compound except the four of us. When we walked in, we saw some animals in the compound - a few sheep, a bunch of hens, an Ox, and two dogs.

Before leaving Lhasa, I had called David to let him know, "We won't have phone access where we are going," and added, "You must not worry, and we will reach out whenever we can."

For the next three months, Bstan worked us aplenty. It helped Zoe way more than it helped me. Her stamina became better, and her skills sharper.

Bstan was a master in Tescao - an ancient Tibetan martial art form currently being revived. Bstan, himself a Tibetan, was a fifth-generation Tescao practitioner. After his father died in an accident, he trained under Monkhoev, a Russian, who had been trained by Bstan's grandfather.

Tescao is an ancient Tibetan warrior art. It has its own uniqueness in its sheer endless variety of exercises. Tescao is an elaborate, coherent, tested fighting and training system but is not bound by strict rules or rituals. It is considered a rather realistic combat technique. Across Asia and Western Europe, it is practiced in private schools, and usually, there are no group training centers. It is considered less boring, its training content varies with trainers and disciples.

The result is mental strength, concentration, determination, fighting spirit, discipline, and serenity.

For three months, Bstan, who spoke fluent English, trained us well. Our routine included getting up at five am daily and stretching for half an hour. After a bowl of rice and gravy, tending to the animals, and running up and down the hills (after three months, we could do five miles either way). A bath in the river. Then, cook food. Noodles or rice - our choice - with gravy. A short nap and we would then train for five continuous hours on various techniques that Bstan himself felt would strengthen our core and improve our skill. A short relaxing stroll, and then we would cook dinner. Noodles or rice - our choice - with stew.

Every week, there was a fellow who would visit. He took the extra milk and eggs and delivered some supplies to the Dojo compound. Bstan was known around the community, which I believe was spread over many hundred kilometers from where we were.

Besides our training, if there was one thing I would want to take back from the region, it was the picturesque Yarlung Tsangpo Grand Canyon. The natural phenomenon of high mountains, curling rivers, and great waterfalls - oh my God, what waterfalls! The canyon region is home to the Rainbow Falls and the Hidden Falls - the inspiration for James Hilton's Shangri-La inspiration for Lost Horizon. The Yarlung Tsangpo Canyon region is a perfect embodiment of a gorgeous painting in real life.

If I look back on how we trained, I feel it was the simplicity of Tescao and the ability to adapt to individual capabilities that made it a great choice. I was not very confident with Zoe taking on advanced martial arts, but by the end of the three months, the way she had excelled, I felt she was ready to take on the world like a true fighter.

At the end of ninety days, we were not ready to leave and felt this was our life, but we all knew the task was complete. Bstan was indeed a master, true to his ancestors, and was every bit, a true Tibetan.

We had requested the supply runner to inform our driver of our pick-up. On his next visit to Bstan's Dojo, the fellow came with our driver and the same Toyota SUV. Before we left, as is customary, we offered a token of our appreciation to Bstan. I knew he would not accept anything monetary. I had thoughtfully brought him some items from back home in England. That made our gift personal, and he was kind enough to accept it.

Day 216

Ninety-seven days of intense training later, we left on the death-defying road trip back up to Lhasa. Thankfully it seemed less dangerous to us on the way up the mountains. I wonder whether it was the journey or our training and our improved mental strength. The mountains, the forest, birds, the animals, the gorge, and the cliffs felt more like home than they did when we were on the way to the Dojo. Even the raindrops on the way back felt familiar as if bidding us goodbye.

We had planned to stay in Lhasa for another three days. I wanted us to see the famous Yamdrok Lake. The trip from Lhasa to the lake was long and tiring, but one look at the magnificent lake and it was all worth it. The lake's water changes colors with the seasons - when we visited, it was Turquoise blue. We wanted to set up camp and stay the night next to the lake, but we were not ill-prepared.

During our earlier stay in Lhasa, we visited the local Wothang Lake. Though great to look at, Wothang was no comparison to the beauty of Yamdrok and the forest around it.

We owed one short visit to the Drepung Monastery, and we did that in the afternoon before we left. Having stayed in the rather rustic setting for over three months, we found a lot of the hotel's luxuries excessive now. It took us two more days to figure out our way to Bali.

Day 221

Four months after our first Tibet Airline flight, we were back on yet another one. This time to Hong Kong. During the time we were training in Tibet, the airline hadn't improved much. By the time we were in Hong Kong, we were grateful that we hadn't crashed into the mountain or dived into Kowloon Bay. We weren't a bit tempted by the famous glittering neon lights around Hong Kong welcoming us in every manner from the plane's window. But the seven-hour long flight had us craving for Bali.

It was late, almost twelve Hong Kong time, when we landed, and our connection was in another two hours. We braced for another five-hour flight. With some forethought, I had again booked First Class tickets on Cathay, an airline I was well acquainted with.

We ate lightly at the first-class lounge at the airport and were the last to board. At two am in the morning, we left Hong Kong for Bali. Within the next thirty minutes, Zoe joined me, and we hugged and slept - my arms pulling her into my chest, hugging her sufficiently to make my flat recliner seem roomier than it actually was. We only got up when the air hostess tapped me on the shoulder, "Our flight is descending," she informed me politely.

Day 222

We landed at Denpasar Airport bright and early in the morning. We were welcomed by balmy weather and petrichor emanating from all around the island, which would remain in our backdrop all through our stay in Bali.

The rental we had chosen was in Uluwatu, and the ride took us an hour and a half to reach. The sun was up, and the weather kept getting warmer as we approached the bungalow.

As the car slowed near our destination, I realized I might have gone overboard. The villa, in Uluwatu, was at the end of the Bali, and the cul de sac brought us in front of a wrought iron gate that seemed to have been lifted from an English estate.

As a matter of fact, the villa was owned by an Englishman. The large walled complex had a guard at the main gate. There seemed to be a small room right next to his guard cabin, making his duty a twenty-four-hour one. It did not seem like he was opening and closing the gate very often either. He, thankfully, allowed our cab to enter the longish driveway that led us to the main bungalow. The size of the building looked like a small hotel. Later, we would get told that it is a twelve-room home of an Englishman who had retired after the war and decided this was not a place he wanted to leave. He expanded the complex to suit his needs, but his family slowly moved on to a more modern lifestyle.

We met the Englishman's handsome grandson in charge of managing the estate. The dashing fellow in his early twenties wore a straw hat, an open batik shirt, and chino shorts. His abs on display clarified that he exercised regularly, and his tan made it clear he played a lot in the sun and the water. Seeing the ladies, he buttoned up his shirt halfway.

"Hi, ladies, I'm Jude. Welcome to Baliiii." He chimed, excited for us.

I extended my hand, "Hi, I am Margaret."

Zoe waved at him and said, "I'm Zoe."

He could not figure out our relationship, and we did not offer an explanation. Seeing Zoe, he flirted a bit but remained largely behaved as he took us around the villa, as he called it.

The villa had twelve rooms, a private pool, a jacuzzi, a games room with a pool table, a massage room at the terrace, a small home gym, a pantry, and two kitchens. The garage had a couple of bikes, a car, and a bicycle. The front courtyard had a huge lawn, and a short walk down some rocks was the beach.

Jude exclaimed, "There is no concept of a private beach in Bali, but this is as private as it can get. There are not many visitors in the region, but those who do walk down the Uluwatu beach do not come all the way down here."

After our tour, at the end of which we were mighty pleased, he handed us a set of keys and introduced us to Ahmad, the villa's security, gofer, and, if need be, handyman. Jude explained before going, "The housekeeper comes every day around noon and shall stay until evening every day. Ahmad here shall introduce her to you when she arrives later today."

Ahmad nodded vigorously.

I said, "Thank you."

Finally, Jude mentioned, "The keys to the vehicles are with Ahmad. You may ask him whichever one you feel like using."

"Oh, we won't be needing them." I countered.

He shrugged.

Before waving goodbye, he offered Zoe, "If you want to join me and my friends for a party, give me a call."

Zoe smiled and blushed for the first time that day. I am going to pick on her later, for sure.

After Jude went off, we toured the house, all over again, checking out all the rooms. "Why did you take this massive house on rent?" Zoe queried, clearly amazed at the size.

"Frankly, I had no idea it would be this big." I defended vainly, "I got recommended to this guy, and I just called him and booked. I should have asked for pictures, I guess."

We walked room after room and realized it would pass for a small hotel back home. To top it all off, was the pool and the jacuzzi. The home gym was a welcome break as well, though we weren't much into lifting weights or running a treadmill.

We held hands when we reached the pool and looked at each other, grinning. We both started together, and Zoe was out of her clothes first, and I was just seconds behind. She jumped, making a splash. I jumped before she could reach back up.

After doing a couple of rounds in the water - the pool length was just fifteen feet and barely five feet deep - we hung around on the deep end and stood in the water. We chatted about everything and just hung next to each other. The water level was at chest level for both of us, just enough to keep our tits underwater. With our shoulders and head above water, we talked for an hour until the bell rang.

Both of us hastily got out of the pool. I reached for the thoughtfully arranged towels nearby on the deck chairs and wrapped one around my breasts. Zoe stayed back on one of the chairs and dabbed herself.

If Ahmad was surprised to see me in the condition, he did not show. Next to him stood a petite, beautiful local girl. She folded her hands in front, gave a slight bow, and introduced herself, "Hello, I am Indah."

I raised an eyebrow and then remembered - the housekeeper.

"Oh, Hi, I am Margaret," I said, remembering to invite them in. Ahmad stayed back outside and waved himself off, bowing multiple times for the intrusion.

I offered Indan to sit, but she bowed and said, "I am here to help you at the house," reminding me that she had work to do. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "Can I make you something to drink or eat?" Her English was good though she spoke with an Eastern accent and was too soft.

"Is it possible to have some juice?" I asked.

"Oh yes, yes," she exclaimed, grateful that I asked her something to make.

Indah rushed off towards the kitchen. I smiled and turned to catch up with Zoe and inform her of our new assistant.