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shared with a quiet river, there is quiet dignity in the peasants harvesting barley upon the road before our car. It is at first startling, I instinctively lurch to stop our driver from running over the brown shocks so carefully . laid out to dry and seed harvest; then. American saviour of the downtrodden, I realize that the 20th century road and motor monster in this ancient land has in fact been simply adapted by the farmer to crush the precious seed from the chaff.
The mountain sun above this roof of the world is broken by clouds in tiers of lapis lazuli.
The Chinese Army presence is formidable here in Tibet, explained by Chinese officials as only for protection of the border with India.
Tibet is not for westerners, its single guest house compound promising and delivering no more than a sparse nod to what Jefferson termed the “dependencies." One accustomed to a glass of orange juice soon wearies of hard toast and tea at each breakfast in Tibet and China. The thin air at 12,000 feet leaves me with a stiff headache the first day. others of us unhappily nauseated, despite the aid of the ubiquitous green oxygen bags considerately left about by the Tibetan hosts for those from the other world.
A Final Thought I would not by choice live six months in China, nor six days in India. Yet in India and other such human swamps, you find strong, proud buildings and sad laces. In China. I saw sad buildings and proud faces. I can still feel the emerald green Chinese Zhivago train roaring past in the night—a passing little junk on the great wide river of China's eternal history. I think we shall be hearing much more of China in qur times.
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