A Hard Lesson Learned in a Tibetan Town

This isn’t a pleasant story, but it could’ve been worse.

After a terrible hitchhiking experience in Litang, China I arrived in Daocheng in the middle of a snow storm. It would take a fool to realize it wasn’t peak season but I didn’t expect the streets to be desolate and every lodging closed for the season. I ran and ran between houses and cars to find an English-speaking person until one lady guided me between alleyways to an open youth hostel. Relieved I wouldn’t die of frostbite and bitterness, I called my family and reassured them ‘I’m fine,’ when instead I spent my night crying under an electric blanket.

The hostel closed the next day. But the sun was out and I was determined to leave behind the snow. Heading to Shangri-La, I asked civilians about transportation through the high mountain passes to that safe haven in the south. “Roads closed,” they repeated, and I thought of that relentless storm I’d been trying to pass for weeks, making its unforgiving rounds down the roads I wanted to take. I had to wait here for another 24 hours and I had nowhere to sleep.

Noticing my anxiety, a Tibetan man offered to drive me in the morning. Seeing as the only way through the mountains was to take a minivan (the roads were too narrow for a bus) I accepted his offer and delighted at the fact that he’d offer me a ride for free, under the condition I stay at his hotel. Figuring this meant he wanted business because of the slow winter season, I got in his car and felt relief. Perhaps too relieved. The first warning sign was the tall gate he had to unlock for us to get inside the hotel grounds. The second was his black bloodshot dog drooling from his violent barks at us, tied by a thick chain to a post outside.

He’s a friendly man, I kept reminding myself. I am lucky to have a shelter, I hoped.

Now, the rule of thumb for independent female travelers is: do not do what I did. Do not spend a night alone with a stranger in his home/hotel based on questionable truths he uttered. But I buried my doubts inside my knapsack and left them both in his car. Inside he turned on the telly and warmed me a cup of butter tea and yak meat. All the traditional Tibetan artistry in the house enamored me and I couldn’t help smile at my situation. I thought I’d slid through the cracks to find paradise.

When he showed me the bedroom, all of the beds undone and without mattresses, I began

thinking that this place hasn’t been open in a long time. Those earlier repressed moments sneaking in through the breeze of an open window and reminding me: this is not a safe, inviting place.

In case of a negative reaction, I pretended to be interested in the accommodations while I watched his eyes examine me from head-to-toe. Pushing my hair aside, he whispered “you think we can sleep together this night?” in my ear. I laughed nervously. If anyone questions why women have a hard time saying ‘no’ to situations they don’t want to be involved in, why consent is a lot of grey area, they should understand that sometimes we do it for protection. I didn’t know this man, and if I had declined his attempts to bed me, I didn’t know what his reaction might be. I began preparing myself for the potential of combat in the middle of the night. The knife I always carried came closer to my body and I imagined how I would escape his hands, the wretched dog and the towering gate outside. My saving grace was his need to go food shopping in town.

We got in the car, I firmly held my bag, and we drove into town. He was no longer shy about his affections. Massaging my thighs asking, “you think we will have sex tonight” in a toothy smile. I responded by default with another laugh and then he continued “do you have a boyfriend?...Or a girlfriend?” “Of course not!” I laughed at his insinuations of my sexual orientation. It was safer to be straight. It was safer to be available. ..Was it?

He leaned in for a kiss and I allowed him the space of my cheek while he stepped out for food. “I’ll wait here” I stated, blaming my numbness on a tired, traveler guise. Out of eyesight, I opened the door, grabbed my bag and ran with tears rolling down my cheeks faster than the snow falling. I could no longer think of a plan. Where could I sleep? Will he find me? I need to get the hell outta here, I kept thinking in vain.

At that same moment of helplessness I met eyes with another western, female traveler. I couldn’t of been happier. I knew she had a place to stay, or at best, she spoke English and we could find a solution together. She asked for my name and I hurriedly explained my situation in fear he might’ve been following or watching me, his fuck for the night that escaped. The lady, Iwona, I learned was traveling with her Chinese coworker so she not only one knew English and Mandarin, but we found out later we both share Polish roots. Immediately she arranged a minivan to leave the next day, a room in her hostel and some beers for us to share to quell any fear I still carried with me.

I relaxed with her and joined her and her friend to a ditch where they said puppies were dying of the cold. Feeding them hot dogs and crackers, a Japanese girl ran towards us in the same predicament as me: alone, stranded and emotional. I smiled and reassured her she could join me tomorrow. She ended up traveling with me for a month afterwards.

Though the story could have gone in another direction, it served me a valuable lesson instead: trust your instincts and never compromise safety because of desperation or for a low price. Budget travel must be done wisely and without sacrificing security for cheap convenience. That man never found me, but what if he wouldn’t of let me leave his hotel that day? Though we can examine our what-ifs ad nauseum, it’s better to be cautious of this risks we take. My foolish ones only resulted in a warning, so yes, it could've been worse.