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Published: April 9th 2011
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I woke up at least 5 times last night, with a feeling in-between jet lag and what I’d imagine being choked to death is like. So not the most pleasant of starts to my day.
I must mention that I heard as an urban myth by my Beijing pengyou’s that Tibetans don’t shower…. I rubbished these suggestions until to my surprise had full confirmation from a Tibetan that they can go a week without showering, and even highly recommended I don’t shower. I had a nice bath that morning.
Tibet has this rule that any foreign tourist needs to have a guide to accompany them ‘everywhere’. Not really my style…. But was fine. Anyhow, we headed to the Potala palace this morning. To my understanding it’s this palace where all these kings and Dali Lamas used to rule from. Was in-between a sort of Indian palace (not surprising as Pakistan and Nepal was a days drive away) and the forbidden city in Beijing. And if I’m not mistaken it was constructed by this king for his wife; either he had a lot of time on his hands, or was way too keen.
As for the palace itself, being
Square Opposite
What a coincidence built on a mountain was quite notable in a backbreaking way, along with impressive interconnected rooms, cool terraces overlooking imposing mountain ranges, and freaky artwork. So the big question…. Would I rather be a king in a Tibetan palace, a European Castle, or the Forbidden City? The answer is none really. I’m hoping that a middle eastern palace will do it for me when I get the chance to visit one.
Some time that afternoon, I felt like I was stabbed in the back. No, my Tibetan tour guide didn’t beat me up and steal all my money and possessions leaving me for the wolves on the Pakistan border. My back literally hurt like it never has before. So I blamed the altitude, and went for a good old siesta, followed by coffee and dinner.
I could have been like a normal person and headed back to my room after dinner to a few DVD’s, some more CCTV giggles, and a nice sleep. Instead my side hungry for cultural integration led me to go join the local boys playing basketball in one of the car parks. My bowl of cultural integration was filled, but on the other hand I felt like spilling my guts out. I forgot that there was like 50% less oxygen up here, but already started playing and my super competitive testosterone induced maleness wouldn’t let me give up after 5 mins.
And so with sneezes and a runny nose, I leave these closing thoughts: Like many cool cultures, I learned that Tibetans love to sing while they work, and noticed this from some of the maintenance people at the palace. I assume this makes work more enjoyable and time pass quicker, and so I’m considering taking this up on my internship at my law firm.
A potential B.O.B inspired, “You shouldn’t worry about what they say, cuz they got nothing on you…”, when consulting clients.
Or an Akon, “Locked up and they wont let me out, and I had a long day in court, stressed me out…” for some of the naughtier clients I’m working with.
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