This is my second podcast. I got some encouraging feedback to my first podcast and decided to do another one from my Tibet memoir.
I’d be so grateful if you would leave a comment under here. Feedback from readers of this blog feels so valuable and encouraging.
You can see from the title that this chapter is about being attacked by Tibetan dogs and it was so frightening that I can still remember it vividly. If you want to hear about it just click on the player thing above.
There are some other interesting bits in this chapter and I want to share with you the ending, in text form, which is about getting a bus — but even doing that in Tibet was a dramatic adventure:
By now the sun had risen and I knew that the bus was supposed to leave well before dawn. I went to the bus stop just in case and, to my surprise, it was still there. A crowd was there for the same reason as me – to get to Lhasa – and more people were arriving every minute. There was no way all of us would fit into the small, battered, dust-covered old banger that they had surrounded. After some time the driver and conductress appeared, and the crowd opened up a gap for them to pass through. The conductress stood in the bus doorway like a colossus, shouting aggressively at the crowd, trying to prevent us from storming the bus, while letting on a select few. Grinding noises could be heard as the driver tried to nurse the old engine to life. The crowd pulsated impatiently, we were all desperate to get on board. I had an advantage compared to the Tibetans: I only had a rucksack and wasn’t carrying large numbers of cumbersome bags.
I managed to push past the conductress, as she was shouting at someone else, and get on board. She turned to me with a face of fury, screamed and pointed at the door, but I had already settled down in the first chair I had experienced in a week and I knew she couldn’t leave her post at the door, as it would give the mob instant access. She could shout as much as she liked, I wasn’t going anywhere unless they hauled me out and I reckoned it would take at least two of them. We left in a storm of curses and banging fists on the window and I thrust some notes in the harridan’s grimy fingers. Grateful that she didn’t heave me out at first stop, I appreciated that bus journey more than any other I can remember – sitting in a comfortable chair and moving along at the same time. What a miracle! Waves of heat from the engine wafted over us and I slept all the way to Lhasa.
This is an extract from 9 Months in Tibet — the eBook — which will be published soon. If you’d like to reserve a copy just email me at firstname.lastname@example.org (or post a short comment under this article).