The Lapsen-Tari is a heap of clods with a sheaf of rods stuck in the middle, from which streamer strings are carried to other rods. From this point there is a fine view over the plateau and its wreath of mountains. To the north, 55° west, we see the Targo-gangri again, but more majestic, more isolated, and more dominant than from the Ngangtse-tso, where, shrouded in clouds and surrounded by other mountains, it was less conspicuous.
Just at the mound we passed the last corner which obscured the view, and suddenly the whole grand mountain appeared in its dazzling whiteness, shining like a lighthouse over the sea of the plateau, in a mantle of firn fields and blue glistening ice, and rising bold and sharply against the sky of purest azure blue. The mound is therefore placed where the traveller coming from Shigatse first comes in sight of the holy mountain. Our guides bared their heads and murmured prayers. Two pilgrims, whom we had seen at the grotto of the hermits, lighted a fire and threw into it a scented powder, an offering of incense to the gods of Targo-gangri. South and south-west runs a lofty range, of uniform height, with patches of snow glittering in the sun on its brownish-purple summit—another part of the Trans-Himalaya.
As we sat here a trading caravan came along the road to Penla-buk, which lies on the west side of the Dangra-yum-tso, and is a rendezvous for gold-prospectors and wool-dealers. Our tents formed a little village on the Kyangdam plain, where wild asses abound, and some sixty nomads of the neighbourhood encamped around it.
In the evening the escort from Ghe presented themselves to inform me that as we were now in the Largep district, subject to the Labrang, they would return home and consign us to a new guard. The latter consisted of five men far advanced in life. Their leader was a small grey-headed man with trembling hands and very indistinct enunciation. When the Ghe men, who longed to return to their warmer villages, had gone off next morning in spite of a violent storm, I had a serious talk with the new men. They intended to lead us over the pass Sha-la (Trans-Himalaya) in the south-west, where the Targo-tsangpo rises, on the banks of which we had passed the day. According to Nain Sing’s map this river flows round the east side of Targo-gangri, and then enters the Dangra-tso, as the holy lake is called here. But Nain Sing was never there, and I wished to gain an insight into the geography of the country. So we came to an agreement that we should travel north-westwards; and I pointed out to the men that Raga-tasam was put down in our passport as the next place; that two roads led thither, one over the Sha-la, the other deviating northwards to the Targo-gangri, and that I had chosen the latter. The passport prohibited us from visiting Lhasa, Gyangtse, and the monastery Sekiya-gompa, but contained not a single word about the road to the Dangra-yum-tso. They ought then to comply with my wishes. The old man hesitated, pondered awhile, and summoned his followers to a council. His tent was soon full of black, bare-headed men in grey sheepskins. Then the consultation was adjourned to Muhamed Isa’s tent. After some consideration they agreed to my proposals, on the condition that I should pay them a whole tenga per day for each yak instead of half a tenga. I rejoiced at the hope of seeing the holy mountain coming closer and closer, and its finer details becoming more conspicuous, of beholding it in cloud and sunshine, disappearing behind the hills and peeping out again like a man-of-war in a rough sea with high white waves round the bow, or, more correctly, like a ship under full sail on the sea of the plateau. Of course I exposed myself to annoyances by ignoring the passport, but geographical discoveries were concerned and all considerations must be set aside.
On Vega day, April 24, we had a strong wind in our faces, it was cold, and Targo-gangri partly disappeared behind the clouds. Escorted by the old gentleman and four horsemen who were as much alike as if they had been cast in the same mould, and who had all matchlocks on their backs, I rode along the bank of the Targo-tsangpo in the contracting valley which slopes with an extremely gentle gradient, imperceptible to the eye, to the lake. At last the valley becomes so narrow that the ice fills all its bottom. The road therefore leaves the river on the left, and passes over flat hills, among which we cross a succession of small affluents. Black tents, tame yaks grazing, stone folds for sheep, wild asses, and millions of field mice recall to mind the Chang-tang. The wild yak, however, does not occur in this country. The feathered kingdom is represented by ravens, wild ducks, and occasionally a small bird. When we came to the Bumnak-chu, a right-hand tributary of the Targo-tsangpo, a large number of men came to meet us, saluting with the tongue, and gazing at us cheerfully and good-temperedly with their long black unkempt hair, their small grey skins, and their torn boots.
On April 25 we rode over the Ting-la pass; at its foot is a mani in good preservation, with a yak skull as ornament, a form of prayer being incised in the frontal bone between the horns. From the top of the pass Targo-gangri is seen expanded into a row of peaks covered with snow. The whole region is like a sea with a strong swell on, and the Targo-gangri is as white foaming surf on the coast. A little later the summits of the mass stood clearly out white on a background of bluish-black clouds; the highest two, twin peaks, had the form of a Tibetan tent on two poles.
Our camp in the Kokbo valley contained not fewer than eleven tents, for now we had about forty companions of all ages, and at least a hundred yaks. The loads were transferred to other yaks on the march to spare the animals. When the caravan moves over the rounded hills it is like a nomad tribe on the march. Most of our Tibetans ride yaks or horses.
We had made a short march, and plenty of time was left for me to go about, make a visit to each tent, and see how the men were getting on. They were all drinking tea and eating tsamba, their greatest pleasure in life. The dung fire burns in the middle, and the form of the tent certainly is the cause of the draught which prevents smoke from collecting inside. Round about stand kettles, teapots, and wooden cups. A huge quantity of provisions lies at the sides. Saddles and harness are deposited in a row before the tent. When I enter, all rise, but I beg them to sit down again and go on eating, while I take a seat on a barley sack at the door of the tent. All have the right arm bare, and many both arms; when they let their sheepskins fall down their backs the whole body is naked down to the waist. They are copper-brown and covered with a layer of dirt, but well-grown, powerful, manly, and in good proportion. The cook of the tent community pours out tea for all, and then each one brings out his own bag and takes out a pinch of tsamba to sprinkle into his tea. They eat meat either raw or boiled in a pot. They are all quiet and orderly, no angry words are heard, no quarrelling and shouting, they are all the best of friends, and make themselves comfortable after their day’s march, talking and laughing together. Their wigs are dust-traps and make them look like Indians. Most of them wear a pigtail, consisting mostly of plaited threads with white bone rings and small silver image boxes which have a couple of turquoises inlaid in the lid. Some have the pigtail wound round the head, forming a singular crown, the diadem of the wilderness.
In another tent the dinner was finished and the “covers” were empty. There a man sat with an awl, cobbling a torn boot; another sewed the girths of his saddle on firmly; and a third lay on his back, with legs crossed and an arm supporting his head, and took his after-dinner nap. Seen from above he makes a very absurd figure with his huge nostrils, into which mice might easily walk in mistake for their holes. A smirking youth is smoking his pipe, while his neighbour busily and carefully searches for suspected lodgers in his sheepskin.