Despite the colorful, tribal skirts and the long braids of Tibetan women (coated in yak butter, by the way), what grabs my attention most in Lhasa are the smells. This is a newly developed city – one with Internet cafes next to Yak meat and yak cheese stalls, outdoor clothing outlets down alleys filled with urine. The people have come to Lhasa, but the plumbing is slower to progress. Mostly, the potent smells of yak abound. In all the monasteries, yak butter candles burn in the cloistered, musty, dark prayer rooms. Entering these rooms at times, pressing my sweater sleeve up to my face is all I can do to keep from gagging while I’m looking at Buddha.
Outside, the putrid stench of sewage comes in waves as we pass alleyways and pipe runoffs. Urine and spit are pooled everywhere, like land mines. In Tibet, toddlers no longer wear diapers. Instead, every child has crotch-less pants. When they have to go…they go. It doesn’t matter where. Greg and I have wandered past children squatting on the street, next to yak stalls with raw meat hanging from hooks. I have learned to walk quickly, look down at where I’m stepping, and always have a tissue to put over my face. But the most difficult smell to deal with is unwashed people. Traditionally, Tibetans bathe only once a year in a ritual ceremony. Quick wipe-downs and sponge baths are for all other 364 days. This is changing and now more Tibetan city dwellers bath regularly, but certainly not daily or even weekly. Plus, the cities, monasteries and busses are packed with village people and nomads, who may never have the chance to bathe. The sour smell of people hovers in the air on the busy streets and in the crowded markets. Despite the smells, Tibet is a beautiful place. Just remember to bring some satchels of lavender.
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