In 1959 a young monk named Tsung Tsai escapes the Red Army troops that destroy his monastery, and flees alone three thousand miles across a China swept by chaos and famine. Knowing his fellow monks are dead, himself starving and hunted, he is sustained by his mission: to carry on the teachings of his Buddhist meditation master, who was too old to leave with his disciple.
Nearly forty years later Tsung Tsai — now an old master himself — persuades his American neighbour, maverick poet George Crane, to travel with him back to his birthplace in the at the edge of the Gobi Desert - now in the Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia in China.
They are unlikely companions. Crane seeks freedom, adventure, sensation. Tsung Tsai is determined to find his master's grave and plant the seeds of a spiritual renewal in China. As their search culminates in a torturous climb to a remote mountain cave, it becomes clear that this seemingly quixotic quest may cost both men's lives.
The review below is by Joan Halifax Roshi, for which grateful acknowedgement is given.
"This is one very extraordinary book! First, I must say I do admire its writer, poet George Crane. He draws us into the world of the Buddhist monk Tsung Tsai with consummate skill. In the first page of this dramatic true story, the reader feels the rhythm, flesh, and tones of Tsung Tsai's remote monastery of the 1950's as if we and the author Crane were actually there. And we never lose this feeling of immediacy as the tale unfolds, and the poet-author Crane takes us from Woodstock to Mongolia, from Hong Kong to New York City.
"Who is this monk Tsung Tsai living in Woodstock, New York? His name means Ancestor Wisdom, and we find as this tale unfolds that he is true to his name. We learn that when he was a young monk, Tsung Tsai makes a hair-raising 2000 mile escape out of China from the Red Army that was flooding and destroying China in 1959. This is a China that is swept by famine and chaos. His monastery is destroyed, its monks are killed, China is flattened, and he is a hunted man. He also has been forced to leave his beloved hermit teacher Shiuh Deng in a cave in the far reaches of the mountains.
"Pursued and starved, Tsung Tsai slips through the eye of a small painful needle to freedom. Forty years later, he with Crane return to this remote region on the edge of the Gobi to find the bones of his beloved master and to renew the spirit of Buddhism in China. They return to a still unfriendly China, and a China whose peoples are living with very little. And we cannot but feel the utter desolation of this minimalist world.
"The encounter with Crane in Woodstock, New York, has many poignant and comic aspects. Crane is definitely not a believer. Yet the old monk quietly takes him into this world with his strange and penetrating humor and big mind wisdom. Tsung Tsai,
though, is not just an ordinary monk. He is a shaman and trickster as well. I am sure that some readers will compare the relationship between the monk and Crane to Castenada's relationship to Don Juan. However, this "Don Juan", our new friend Tsung Tsai, happens to be the monk down the street. We meet him through George Crane's heart and mind, and we like him. We also know that we can find him in Woodstock, New York. He is humble, really smart, funny, wise, spare, and old. He is also a shaman, scholar, and poet. In his Woodstock hut, he sleeps on a pile of cardboard boxes and keeps the scene around him to the very basics. And whenever he opens his mouth, we and Mr. Crane are all ears.
"Their friendship unfolds through the translation of poetry. Then one day, Tsung Tsai has the chance to return to China. We know little of this journey except that when he returns to the States, he seems to be deeply disturbed by what he encountered in China. True to our hero Tsung Tsai, he has a completely unlikely vision that brings him and Crane back to China to find the bones of his teacher in order to give them a proper burial. How will they manage this, you ask? They are both dirt poor. This is a highly unpublished poet and an unknown monk. Don't worry; our monk has this all worked out. Go to New York City, auction off the book of the story of their mission, get the advance, go to China, do the deed, then write the book about what happens. And so it goes, and are we fortunate! The adventure proceeds from there.
"I do not want to spoil the tale for you. Just to say, this is one trip I would probably not want to do in the flesh. Crane amazes me in how he hung in there. He now is my hero too. I have been in some pretty remote and rough places in the world, and I could taste the cold, smoke and hunger that Crane and Tsung Tsai bring
to us. The scalding , blowing sand of the Gobi Desert scours us out. The dank rooms they stay in oppress us. The insane walk up the mountain to find Tsung Tsai's Master's bones takes our breath away. We do not know if our heroes will survive. And their relationship takes on a whole new dimension, moving from curiosity to love as this tale culminates.
"George Crane was a foreign correspondent and authored four books of poems in addition to the translations he has done with his monk friend. Tsung Tsai is a meditation teacher, doctor of classical Chinese medicine, martial arts adept, poet, and calligrapher. We hope that he has a long life ahead of him. In the end, I can say that this is a beautifully written book and an extraordinary story that inspires and teaches. I bow in gratitude to these two men whose connection has already benefited many."
So, with thanks to both George Crane - and also Joan Halifax Roshi for the review - I leave Inner Mongolia for another 'Autonomous Region' of China - Xinjiang - courtesy of "The Road to Miran" by German author and traveller Christa Paula.
Christa Paula, an intrepid young student of Asian art and archaeology, set off in 1989 to explore an area closed to Westerners as well as to most Chinese, and one which is firmly under military rule. Tall and blonde, she travelled for the most part incognito, disguised in a Pathan cap, old grey jacket and big padded trousers. Her goal was Miran, the ancient Buddhist site of second-century wall paintings. In the company of Chang, a maverick taxi driver, Christa Paula travelled through an area dotted with nuclear testing sites, forced labour camps and mines in which prisoners dig and process asbestos without protective clothing. She discovered that villages which exist on maps are now radiation-contaminated ghost towns, and she witnessed everywhere the seeds of discontent and political unrest.
So from Xinjiang I opt to fly rather than endure another lengthy train journey. I leave from Hohhot Baita International Airport (the largest airport in Inner Mongolia) taking the 'China Southern Airlines' direct flight CZ6928, leaving at 21.05 and arriving just 3 hours 20 minutes later at 00.25. The flight is a bargain at £219 on eBookers - over £100 cheaper than any other quoted flight (although a train would have been about £34 - but taking over 29 hours!). I arrive on time at Ürümqi Diwopu International Airport - a vast, modern and very busy airport 10 miles northwest of downtown Ürümqi - in the capital of the "Forbidden Zone" of Xinjiang.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
Saturday, 28 May 2011
Walking the Gobi: 1,600 Mile-trek Across a Desert of Hope and Despair
As mentioned in the previous review of “Dateline Mongolia”, although I learned much about modern urban living in Mongolia I was also fascinated to visit the ‘other’ Mongolia – the unknown wilderness of the Gobi Desert and its native nomadic culture. For this leg of my journey, I chose the book “Walking the Gobi: 1,600 Mile-trek Across a Desert of Hope and Despair” by Helen Thayer. The Gobi Desert is a barren stretch of Mongolia that runs north of China, south of Russia and far from everything; not an ideal place to visit, except by book! Fortunately, the daring Thayer, age 63, fights nature and common sense for us, a fascinating account of her 1,600 mile journey with her husband, Bill, 74.
As I am already in Mongolia, my journey to this next leg is minimal – and involves a flight from Ulaanbataar in a cramped single engine plane belonging to Chuluu, a Mongolian pilot who dropped off and ferried supplies to the Thayers on their epic trip..
In Thayer’s words: “The crumbling concrete buildings, potholed streets, and crowded markets of Ulaan Baatar dropped away behind us as Chuluu set a southwestern course, which would take us to the far western edge of the desert on the Chinese border” and into "a parched rocky land that showed not a glimmer of welcome”. And so, in this forbidding, yet exciting scenario, I set out in the company of two adventurous pensioners to traverse the Mongolian Gobi – all 1600 miles of it!
The following review is by Bonnie Gayle Hood from the website www.goodreads.com, for which grateful acknowledgement is given.
“This was an amazing book, and contained everything I long for in a non-fiction book: daring-do adventure, a plot so amazing that it would work in a fiction book, and a place I have never been before.
“At times you have to remind yourself that this really happened, as I found it d difficult to believe. The book tells the story of Helen Thayer and her husband, in their 60's and 70's respectively, who, not long after a horrible rear-end collision with a truck, on a bridge in Seattle, that hurt her, from her spine all the way down to her feet, walked 1,600 miles across the Gobi desert in 81 days, in Mongolia, in the blistering, lip-cracking, 120+ degree summer heat.
"They did it with only 2 camels, which they named Tom and Jerry, who carried their supplies. They weren't allowed radios, as they were too close to the Chinese border.
“Their walk was fraught with danger: they nearly died of dehydration, they were almost thrown into a Chinese prision, they came across smugglers, they were bit by scorpions, and she had to consume mass quantities of pain pills to make it with her injuries.
“They also encountered great kindness, and at times almost smothering hospitality, from each and every Mongolian they encountered, in addition to coming to love the land around them, and making friends with Tom and Jerry.
“I adored how their focus was on honoring the people, customs, animals, and land of Mongolia. The reader can't help but come away with, not only a better understanding, but also a greater appreciation for the people who make the Gobi desert their home. She is a descriptive writer, and at times, all they see for days on end is flat nothingness, but it never gets boring or monotonous. She has a way of zeroing in on the interesting moments.
“I also really enjoyed the book's interesting factoids about the Gobi desert. I found myself raising my eyebrows in wonder at least every other page, especially toward the beginning of the book. For example, did you know that only 3% of the Gobi is covered with sand? Or that, during the winter, the Gobi is covered with snow, and averages -40 degrees?
“The only 2 things I wished for were captions about the black and white photographs at the beginning of each chapter, so that the reader would know what they were looking at, and in fact, it would have been nice to have a section of color photos in the center of the book. I also wished for an inventory list of what they took on their journey.
“For those who have a hike across a desert on their life's to-do list, and for those who are arm chair adventurers (I'm in the 2nd category) this book is a riveting non-fiction read.”
And so, with thanks to Bonnie Gayle Hood for the review, I reluctantly leave this country - which lived up to all of my expectations – and make the first of several journeys to Mongolia’s massive neighbour China. As with the six other largest countries in the world (Russia, India, Australia, Brazil, the United States and Canada) I am splitting this territory up into constituent parts to get a full feel of the place. In this case I am visiting each of China’s “Autonomous Regions” as well as the central region (including Beijing) and certain contentious states such as Hong Kong and Shanghai.
My first foray into China is – appropriately enough given that I have just left Mongolia – the Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia. This journey is courtesy of “Bones of the Master: A Journey to Secret Mongolia“ by US author George Crane. This tells the story of a Buddhist monk, Tsung Tsai, who in 1959 fled from the Red Army who had destroyed his monastery and walked 3000 miles across China, determined to carry on the teachings of his master. Forty years later, Tsung Tsai travels back to his birthplace with the author, to find his master's grave in the remote Crow Pull Mountain area in Inner Mongolia and to build a shrine.
Having returned from the Gobi wasteland to Ulaanbaatar, I make my way to Ulaanbaatar’s rather Georgian-looking train station and catch the 4604 train from Ulaanbaatar to Hohhot, the capital of inner Mongolia. One of the most popular Trans-Siberian / Trans-Mongolian trains for both Russians and foreigners, the train is operated by Russian and Chinese staff. When the train passes from Mongolia into China, the wheels of the train are changed to a smaller gauge, which takes a few hours, and I am glad I paid the extra $40 ($215 in total) for first class with a shower facility. It also has a nice car-restaurant.
Thus I leave from Ulaanbaatar at 10.00pm on Monday and arrive at Hohhot on Tuesday at 10.05am feeling surprisingly refreshed...
As I am already in Mongolia, my journey to this next leg is minimal – and involves a flight from Ulaanbataar in a cramped single engine plane belonging to Chuluu, a Mongolian pilot who dropped off and ferried supplies to the Thayers on their epic trip..
In Thayer’s words: “The crumbling concrete buildings, potholed streets, and crowded markets of Ulaan Baatar dropped away behind us as Chuluu set a southwestern course, which would take us to the far western edge of the desert on the Chinese border” and into "a parched rocky land that showed not a glimmer of welcome”. And so, in this forbidding, yet exciting scenario, I set out in the company of two adventurous pensioners to traverse the Mongolian Gobi – all 1600 miles of it!
The following review is by Bonnie Gayle Hood from the website www.goodreads.com, for which grateful acknowledgement is given.
“This was an amazing book, and contained everything I long for in a non-fiction book: daring-do adventure, a plot so amazing that it would work in a fiction book, and a place I have never been before.
“At times you have to remind yourself that this really happened, as I found it d difficult to believe. The book tells the story of Helen Thayer and her husband, in their 60's and 70's respectively, who, not long after a horrible rear-end collision with a truck, on a bridge in Seattle, that hurt her, from her spine all the way down to her feet, walked 1,600 miles across the Gobi desert in 81 days, in Mongolia, in the blistering, lip-cracking, 120+ degree summer heat.
"They did it with only 2 camels, which they named Tom and Jerry, who carried their supplies. They weren't allowed radios, as they were too close to the Chinese border.
“Their walk was fraught with danger: they nearly died of dehydration, they were almost thrown into a Chinese prision, they came across smugglers, they were bit by scorpions, and she had to consume mass quantities of pain pills to make it with her injuries.
“They also encountered great kindness, and at times almost smothering hospitality, from each and every Mongolian they encountered, in addition to coming to love the land around them, and making friends with Tom and Jerry.
“I adored how their focus was on honoring the people, customs, animals, and land of Mongolia. The reader can't help but come away with, not only a better understanding, but also a greater appreciation for the people who make the Gobi desert their home. She is a descriptive writer, and at times, all they see for days on end is flat nothingness, but it never gets boring or monotonous. She has a way of zeroing in on the interesting moments.
“I also really enjoyed the book's interesting factoids about the Gobi desert. I found myself raising my eyebrows in wonder at least every other page, especially toward the beginning of the book. For example, did you know that only 3% of the Gobi is covered with sand? Or that, during the winter, the Gobi is covered with snow, and averages -40 degrees?
“The only 2 things I wished for were captions about the black and white photographs at the beginning of each chapter, so that the reader would know what they were looking at, and in fact, it would have been nice to have a section of color photos in the center of the book. I also wished for an inventory list of what they took on their journey.
“For those who have a hike across a desert on their life's to-do list, and for those who are arm chair adventurers (I'm in the 2nd category) this book is a riveting non-fiction read.”
And so, with thanks to Bonnie Gayle Hood for the review, I reluctantly leave this country - which lived up to all of my expectations – and make the first of several journeys to Mongolia’s massive neighbour China. As with the six other largest countries in the world (Russia, India, Australia, Brazil, the United States and Canada) I am splitting this territory up into constituent parts to get a full feel of the place. In this case I am visiting each of China’s “Autonomous Regions” as well as the central region (including Beijing) and certain contentious states such as Hong Kong and Shanghai.
My first foray into China is – appropriately enough given that I have just left Mongolia – the Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia. This journey is courtesy of “Bones of the Master: A Journey to Secret Mongolia“ by US author George Crane. This tells the story of a Buddhist monk, Tsung Tsai, who in 1959 fled from the Red Army who had destroyed his monastery and walked 3000 miles across China, determined to carry on the teachings of his master. Forty years later, Tsung Tsai travels back to his birthplace with the author, to find his master's grave in the remote Crow Pull Mountain area in Inner Mongolia and to build a shrine.
Having returned from the Gobi wasteland to Ulaanbaatar, I make my way to Ulaanbaatar’s rather Georgian-looking train station and catch the 4604 train from Ulaanbaatar to Hohhot, the capital of inner Mongolia. One of the most popular Trans-Siberian / Trans-Mongolian trains for both Russians and foreigners, the train is operated by Russian and Chinese staff. When the train passes from Mongolia into China, the wheels of the train are changed to a smaller gauge, which takes a few hours, and I am glad I paid the extra $40 ($215 in total) for first class with a shower facility. It also has a nice car-restaurant.
Thus I leave from Ulaanbaatar at 10.00pm on Monday and arrive at Hohhot on Tuesday at 10.05am feeling surprisingly refreshed...
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Dateline Mongolia: Urban Travels in Nomad’s Land
As mentioned in my last entry, the next leg of my journey is Mongolia (also commonly referred to as Outer Mongolia; Inner Mongolia now being a province within China). This is one country that I have always been fascinated with from afar, and I was really looking forward to my trip there. One aspect of this country which has always intrigued me is its conflicting reputation as both an unknown wilderness (typified in its vast expanse of Gobi Desert and native nomadic culture) and a former stronghold of the Soviet Union, as seen in the concrete edifices of its capital city, Ulaanbataar. As such, and because of my fascination with this country, I allocated two books to Mongolia which hopefully capture, between them, these dual aspects. The first of these "Dateline Mongolia" is located mainly in the capital of Ulaanbaatar (with frequent excursions much further afield in the country), and details three years spent in the country by American immigrant Michael Kohn during his stint as editor of the state newspaper, the Mongol Messenger.
Mongolia was obviously one of Kohn’s favourite stops — as Lonely Planet travel guides’ Mongolia man, he speaks the language and has hung out all over that semi-autonomous Northeast Asian region, from the Gobi desert and the Altai mountains to the capital, Ulaanbaatar. He was also the main author for guides to Tibet and Colombia, and helped out compiling info for three more volumes. But his main job for three years was editor of The Mongol Messenger, Mongolia’s state-owned newspaper. So when he claims, for instance, that the government’s new tax on mining companies is making foreign investors in that country nervous, you’d best believe it.
Kohn’s book details what he saw when he arrived in the late ’90s: a country in transition from the traditional, isolated Mongolia of rugged people living in gers (aka yurts) in a wild and beautiful landscape to a place eager to join the world marketplace, where SUVs and the Internet are more important than yaks and camels. In other words, a place like any other — except that it’s situated in one of the most distinctive regions on the planet, the steppes that bred Genghis Khan.
The book highlights Mongolia's transition from the early days of Genghis Khan, to the later days of Communism, and to the current days of the emergence into the Western Culture. It tells of the author's journeys through the country and its cultural milieu, from child jockeys, to falcon poaching to exiled Buddhist leaders and to wars between lamas and shamans.
This is a vivid, informative, and irresistible journey through one of the world's most isolated and mysterious countries. It is a nation where falcon poachers, cattle rustlers, exiled Buddhist monks, death-defying child jockeys, and political assassins can be found in virtually every town. "Dateline Mongolia" is written with a fast-paced, journalistic style offering a unique perspective on a little-known society - from the politicians and businessmen trying to deal with the challenges being thrown up since the country was released from the clutches of Communism in 1990 to the spiritual turf war being waged between lamas, shamans, Mormon elders, and Christian Missionaries. This is a compelling read and more than satisfied my curiosity about the urban aspects of this mysterious land.
As mentioned above, I was also fascinated to visit the ‘other’ Mongolia – the unknown wilderness of the Gobi Desert and its native nomadic culture. For this leg of my journey, I chose the book “Walking the Gobi: 1,600 Mile-trek Across a Desert of Hope and Despair” by Helen Thayer. The Gobi Desert is a barren stretch of Mongolia that runs north of China, south of Russia and far from everything; not an ideal place to visit, except by book! Fortunately, the daring Thayer, age 63, fights nature and common sense for us, a fascinating account of her 1,600 mile journey with her husband, Bill, 74.
As I am already in Mongolia, my journey to this next leg is minimal – and involves a flight from Ulaanbataar in a cramped single engine plane belonging to Chuluu, a Mongolian pilot who dropped off and ferried supplies to the Thayers on their epic trip..
In Thayer’s words: “The crumbling concrete buildings, potholed streets, and crowded markets of Ulaan Baatar dropped away behind us as Chuluu set a southwestern course, which would take us to the far western edge of the desert on the Chinese border” and into "a parched rocky land that showed not a glimmer of welcome”. And so, in this forbidding, yet exciting scenario, I set out in the company of two adventurous pensioners to traverse the Mongolian Gobi – all 1600 miles of it!
Mongolia was obviously one of Kohn’s favourite stops — as Lonely Planet travel guides’ Mongolia man, he speaks the language and has hung out all over that semi-autonomous Northeast Asian region, from the Gobi desert and the Altai mountains to the capital, Ulaanbaatar. He was also the main author for guides to Tibet and Colombia, and helped out compiling info for three more volumes. But his main job for three years was editor of The Mongol Messenger, Mongolia’s state-owned newspaper. So when he claims, for instance, that the government’s new tax on mining companies is making foreign investors in that country nervous, you’d best believe it.
Kohn’s book details what he saw when he arrived in the late ’90s: a country in transition from the traditional, isolated Mongolia of rugged people living in gers (aka yurts) in a wild and beautiful landscape to a place eager to join the world marketplace, where SUVs and the Internet are more important than yaks and camels. In other words, a place like any other — except that it’s situated in one of the most distinctive regions on the planet, the steppes that bred Genghis Khan.
The book highlights Mongolia's transition from the early days of Genghis Khan, to the later days of Communism, and to the current days of the emergence into the Western Culture. It tells of the author's journeys through the country and its cultural milieu, from child jockeys, to falcon poaching to exiled Buddhist leaders and to wars between lamas and shamans.
This is a vivid, informative, and irresistible journey through one of the world's most isolated and mysterious countries. It is a nation where falcon poachers, cattle rustlers, exiled Buddhist monks, death-defying child jockeys, and political assassins can be found in virtually every town. "Dateline Mongolia" is written with a fast-paced, journalistic style offering a unique perspective on a little-known society - from the politicians and businessmen trying to deal with the challenges being thrown up since the country was released from the clutches of Communism in 1990 to the spiritual turf war being waged between lamas, shamans, Mormon elders, and Christian Missionaries. This is a compelling read and more than satisfied my curiosity about the urban aspects of this mysterious land.
As mentioned above, I was also fascinated to visit the ‘other’ Mongolia – the unknown wilderness of the Gobi Desert and its native nomadic culture. For this leg of my journey, I chose the book “Walking the Gobi: 1,600 Mile-trek Across a Desert of Hope and Despair” by Helen Thayer. The Gobi Desert is a barren stretch of Mongolia that runs north of China, south of Russia and far from everything; not an ideal place to visit, except by book! Fortunately, the daring Thayer, age 63, fights nature and common sense for us, a fascinating account of her 1,600 mile journey with her husband, Bill, 74.
As I am already in Mongolia, my journey to this next leg is minimal – and involves a flight from Ulaanbataar in a cramped single engine plane belonging to Chuluu, a Mongolian pilot who dropped off and ferried supplies to the Thayers on their epic trip..
In Thayer’s words: “The crumbling concrete buildings, potholed streets, and crowded markets of Ulaan Baatar dropped away behind us as Chuluu set a southwestern course, which would take us to the far western edge of the desert on the Chinese border” and into "a parched rocky land that showed not a glimmer of welcome”. And so, in this forbidding, yet exciting scenario, I set out in the company of two adventurous pensioners to traverse the Mongolian Gobi – all 1600 miles of it!
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