The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (12 page)

All caravans bound for Lhasa had to stop at Na Pichu for some days, to change their means of transport, because the route from then on was so rocky that camels could go no further. Our first
task therefore was to sell ours; they were in such poor shape and so exhausted that nobody wanted them. Finally a man claiming to be an animal doctor turned up: he probably knew a way of improving
their condition, for we sold him three of them for fifteen ounces of silver, and threw in the “burnt” one for nothing. These fifteen ounces of silver were just what we needed to hire
six yaks to carry our baggage to Lhasa.

Our second task was to get rid of our assistant camel driver, the lama from the Ratchico mountains. After paying him off handsomely we told him that if he intended going on to Lhasa he must
choose other companions, and that he could regard himself as freed from any obligations contracted with us. So at last we were parted from this fellow who, by his malice, had so increased the
hardships we had had to bear on our journey.

We feel that we have a duty to warn anyone who for any reason might have to stop at Na Pichu that he would do well to be on his guard against thieves. The inhabitants of this Tibetan village are
remarkable rogues; they exploit Mongol and other caravans to a shocking extent. At night they adroitly slip into the tents and take what they can lay their hands on; even by day they ply their
profession with a cool skill which would be the envy of the cleverest crooks in Paris.

After stocking up with butter,
tsamba
and some joints of mutton, we went on towards Lhasa, which was now only about a fortnight’s march away. We had as company some Mongols from the
kingdom of Khartchin, who were on pilgrimage to Lhasa, the “Eternal Sanctuary”; they had taken their Grand Chaberon with them, that is, a Living Buddha who was the superior of their
lamasery. He was a young man of eighteen; his manners were pleasant and refined, his expression was open and artless, contrasting strangely with the role he was made to play. At the age of five he
had been declared a Buddha and Grand Lama of the Buddhists of Khartchin. He was going to Lhasa to spend some years in one of the great lamaseries, in the study of prayers and other knowledge
required by his position. A brother of the king of Khartchin and several high-ranking lamas acted as his retinue. To be a Living Buddha was evidently a heavy burden for this young man. We could see
that he would have enjoyed laughing and playing; he would have preferred to canter around on his horse, but was forced to proceed solemnly between a guard of honour of two horsemen who never left
him. When we camped, instead of sitting all the time on cushions inside his tent, trying to look like an idol in a lamasery, he would much have preferred to be free in the wilds, busy with the
tasks of nomadic life, but none of that was allowed. His life-task was to act the Buddha, and he must have no part in the everyday affairs of ordinary mortals. This young Chaberon enjoyed coming
from time to time to chat with us in our tent; with us at least he could put off his official divinity and belong to the human race. He was most interested to hear us talk of Europe and the
Europeans. He questioned us with artless candour about our religion, and greatly admired it; and when we asked him if it would not be better to be a worshipper of Jehovah than to be a Chaberon, he
answered that he did not know. He disliked being asked about his previous lives and continual reincarnations; such questions made him blush, and in the end he told us that he found it painful when
we spoke of such matters. This poor boy was clearly caught in a maze of religion of which he understood not a word.

The road from Na Pichu to Lhasa was mostly rocky and very hard going. When we reached the Koiran mountain chain it became extremely difficult indeed. Yet as we went along we were of good cheer,
as we saw more and more signs of habitation. The sight of black tents in the distance, of many pilgrims on their way to Lhasa, of frequent inscriptions written on cairns by the wayside, and of many
small caravans of yaks which we met from time to time all helped to lighten the fatigues of the journey. At a few days’ march from Lhasa, the population ceased to be entirely nomadic. A few
cultivated fields appeared in the wilderness, and gradually black tents gave way to houses. Then finally there were no more herdsmen and we were amongst an agricultural people. Fifteen days after
we had left Na Pichu we arrived at Pampou, which, because of its closeness to Lhasa, was regarded by pilgrims as the gateway to the holy city. Pampou, erroneously marked on the map as Panctou, was
a fine plain watered by a large river, which irrigated the land by means of a number of canals. There was no village as such, but large flat-roofed farmhouses were dotted everywhere, mostly well
whitewashed. They were all surrounded by large trees, and each one had a little turret like a dovecot from which floated many-coloured pennants covered with Tibetan characters. After more than
three months spent in dreary deserts, with nothing to see but wild beasts and brigands, the plain of Pampou seemed to us the most beautiful place on earth. Our long hard journey had brought us so
close to the savage state that we were lost in ecstasy at anything connected with civilisation. The houses, the ploughs, even a simple furrow seemed exciting. But what struck us most of all was the
extraordinary mildness of the temperature. Although it was the end of January, the river and the canals had only a little thin ice along the edges; and hardly anyone was dressed in furs.

At Pampou we again had to reorganise the caravan. Yaks normally go no further than this; they are replaced by donkeys, very small but strong and trained as pack animals. As it was difficult to
find enough donkeys for the baggage of the lamas from Khartchin and for our own, we were forced to stay two days. We used these days in an attempt to do something about our appearance. Our hair and
our beards were so shaggy, our faces so sooty from the smoke of the tent, so cracked with the cold, so thin, so misshapen, that we felt sorry for ourselves when we looked at ourselves in a glass.
As for our clothes, they were no better than we were.

The people of Pampou were most of them very well off; so they were continually gay and carefree. Each evening they gathered in front of their farms and we saw men, women and children jigging to
a voice accompaniment. When the dances were over, the farmer plied everyone with a sourish drink made of fermented barley. It was like beer without the hops.

After two days’ search in all the farms of the plain, enough donkeys had been collected to equip the caravan and we started off. One mountain stood between us and Lhasa, but it was
undoubtedly the hardest and steepest of all that we had come across in our journey. The Tibetans and the Mongols climb it with great reverence; they believe that whoever has the good fortune to
reach the top receives absolution for all his sins. Whether or not this is so, it is certain that climbing this mountain is a long, hard act of penance. We left at an hour after midnight, and it
was not until nearly ten in the morning that we reached the summit. We were forced to do almost all the climb on foot, as riding was most difficult owing to the steepness and the rocky terrain.

The sun was just about to set when we had negotiated all the zigzags of the descent. We came out into a wide valley, and on our right we saw Lhasa, capital of the Buddhist world. A multitude of
ancient trees; large white houses, flat-roofed and turreted; countless temples with golden roofs; the Buddha La, with the palace of the Dalai Lama on it: all this we saw, an impressive and majestic
city.

At the entrance to the city, the Mongols whom we had got to know on the journey and who had arrived a few days before us met us and invited us to put up at a lodging that they had arranged for
us. It was 29 January 1846; eighteen months had elapsed since we had left the valley of Black Waters.

View of Lhasa. From
Travels in Tartary, Tibet and China,
London, 1852.

EXPLORING ANGKHOR

Henri Mouhot

(1826–61)

Born in France, Mouhot spent most of his career in Russia as a teacher and then in the Channel Islands. A philologist by training, he also took up natural history and it was
with the support of the Royal Zoological Society that in 1858 he set out for South East Asia. From Siam (Thailand) he penetrated Cambodia and Laos, where he died; but not before reaching unknown
Angkhor and becoming the first to record and depict the most extensive and magnificent temple complex in the world. His discovery provided the inspiration for a succession of subsequent French
expeditions up the Mekong.

O
n the 29th November I took leave of my amiable fellow-countryman and friend, M. Arnoux, to, I may venture to affirm, our mutual regret, and set
off, accompanied by Father Guilloux, who had some business at Pinhalú. They both wished me to remain with them until Cochin China was open, and I could travel through the country in safety:
I should have liked to do so, could I have foreseen an approaching termination of the war; but in the then state of affairs that was impossible.

As far as Pump-Ka-Daye, the first village we came to after leaving Brelum, I had the society and aid of the missionaries, and of the old chief of the Stiêns, who furnished me with three
waggons for my baggage, while Phrai and M. Guilloux’s Annamite attendants took charge of my boxes of insects, which, if placed among my other goods, would have been injured by the
jolting.

The rains had ceased for the last three weeks, and I was agreeably surprised at the improvement in the state of the country since August. The paths were dry, and we had no longer to flounder
through dirty marshes, nor suffer from the wet nights which we formerly found so unpleasant. When we reached the station where we were to pass the first night, our servants lighted a fire to cook
their rice, as well as scare away the wild beasts; but, notwithstanding this, we remarked that our oxen, dogs, and monkey showed signs of great fear, and, almost immediately afterwards, we heard a
roaring like that of a lion. We seized our guns, which were loaded, and waited in readiness.

Henri Mouhot, drawn by M. Rousseau. From
Travels in Central Parts of Indo China (Siam), Cambodia, and Laos, during the years 1858, 1859, and 1860,
London, 1864.

Fresh roarings, proceeding from a very short distance off, completed the terror of our animals; and we ourselves could not help feeling uneasy. I proposed to go and meet the enemy, which was
agreed to, and we accordingly plunged into that part of the forest whence the sound came. Although familiar with these terrible creatures, we felt far from comfortable; but before long we came upon
recent tracks which were quite unmistakeable, and soon, in a small clearing in the forest, perceived nine elephants, the leader being a male of enormous size, standing right in front of us.

On our approach he set up a roar more frightful than ever, and the whole herd advanced slowly towards us. We remained in a stooping position, half hidden behind the trees, which were too tall
for us to climb. I was in the act of taking aim at the forehead of the leader, the only vulnerable part, but an Annamite who stood beside me, and who was an old hunter, knocked up my rifle, and
begged me not to fire; “for,” said he, “if you kill or wound one of the elephants we are lost; and even if we should succeed in escaping, the oxen, the waggons, and all their
contents would be overwhelmed by the fury of these animals. If there were but two or three, we might hope to kill them; but nine, of whom five are very large, are too many; and it will be more
prudent to retreat.” At this moment, Father Guilloux, who had not much confidence in his powers of locomotion, fired his gun in the air to frighten the elephants; and this plan fortunately
succeeded: the herd stopped in astonishment for an instant, then turned round, and marched into the forest.

When we reached Pemptiélan we stopped at the house of the mandarin, whose authority extends over the neighbouring district, and, contrary to the usual custom, he offered us hospitality
under his own roof. Scarcely, however, were we installed when he came to me and asked for the best of my guns, and, on my declining to part with it, he begged for something else, intimating that we
should have begun by offering a present. Thereupon I gave him a suit of European clothes, a powder-flask and some powder, a hunting-knife, and some other small articles. In return he presented me
with an ivory trumpet, and placed at my service two elephants to enable me to continue my route more comfortably: he likewise sent off our people with a letter to the chiefs of the Srokkhner.