White Bread Dipped in Tea

White Bread Dipped In Tea

yes, there were nomads, and daggers at waists.

gobs of coral and turquoise in women’s hair. there was trundling through the grasslands. but mostly—there were mountains. there was rawness. there was fear. it was so unbelievably beautiful—the blue sky, the jagged peaks, the turning leaves, the rushing water—rainbows of prayer flags, giant stupas and prayer wheels on the sides of roads, mantras carved into hillsides. we went up and up and up.

so there was that. and then there was the fear. there was me breathless just sitting. there was the bus, about to drive off a cliff? crumbling dirt roads. there were massing clouds. there was a whiteout at the top of the pass and our driver scared chanting mantras. there was me, standing at the bottom of the hill screaming.

so we were in tibet.
it was bright. i wore the snap-on dark lenses I’d bought in chengdu. the ones I got in tibet-town and had sanded down to fit my frames. the ones I was embarrassed to wear cause they reminded me of old men. only I couldn’t afford prescription sunglasses. so we were in tibet. it was dry. my lips cracked, throbbed. they hurt. so I used lots of lip balm but it didn’t help. i tried to drink enough water, but I didn’t want to have to pee on those 12 hour bus rides over the passes. we were in tibet. we were on local chinese buses. boys blasted avril lavigne through cell phones. the bus full of smoke as we went up and up and up 16,000 feet and it was snowing. and we were on the top of the mountain. and I imagine it was slippery. and it was a one lane road and a truck came in the opposite direction. and the road was so narrow neither of us could pass. and we were stuck. there, on the top of the mountain.