The Hotel on the Roof of the World (31 page)

Mme Barba joined a group of Barba's Italian friends who had also come out especially for the occasion. The Chinese and American Ambassadors to Nepal took their places at the top table. The American Ambassador was a charming lady but appeared to be pestered by an annoying little man who sucked up to her like a limpet, demanding VIP treatment, smoking a nauseating cigar, and calling her ‘Madame Ambassador' all the time. I was on the verge of asking if she would like us to remove him, when Harry whispered to me that it was her husband.

Conny started the proceedings by welcoming the VIP guests and giving a signal to the yak convoy to commence. All heads turned, as behind the seated guests came the blast of yak horns, which heralded the entry of Marco Polo and his caravan of yaks, horses, sheep, goats and dancing girls. The herders and dancers were all members of staff, and who was Marco Polo? None other than our very own Bonnetti, dressed up as the great Italian traveller.

The yak caravan wound its way through the dining tables, dropped Marco Polo off at one end of the pool and carried on out of sight. At the opposite end of the pool stood twenty-five Tibetan maidens in distress, all calling for Marco Polo to rescue them. At first he was reluctant but when they dropped their long robes to reveal the hottest range of slinky swimwear ever to be seen in Tibet – Catalina direct from the USA – he quickly changed his mind. He threw his hat into the crowd, tore off his jacket, picked up the Lhasa Surf Club surfboard and jumped into the pool. He paddled desperately towards the girls until halfway across the pool he lost his grip on the board and slipped below the surface of the water. There were gasps from the anxious crowd as Marco Polo stayed under. Unknown to the onlookers, this was one of Barba's carefully rehearsed theatrical events, and, right on cue, Mr Pepino came running at full speed through the crowd with the life-ring shouting, ‘
Mama mia
, Bonnetti! Bonnetti!'

As Marco Polo surfaced, Pepino flung the life-ring at him, striking him on the forehead and sending him below the surface again. The crowd, now sensing that this was all part of the act, roared with laughter. Those of us who knew that Bonnetti being knocked unconscious by the life-ring was not in the script, edged towards the pool, ready to dive in. Fortunately Bonnetti surfaced again and carried on swimming, albeit it with some difficulty, towards the girls.

When he climbed out of the pool the Tibetan maidens ran away around the pool's edge, trailing ribbons behind them to be cut by the VIPs for the opening ceremony. There was now rapturous applause from the crowd. Mr Tse Wang Si Da from the Tibet Tourist Corporation was almost moved to tears, declaring that it was a great day for the people of Tibet.

‘This is better than the opening of the Olympics,' called out an excited Chinese VIP.

Once everyone had returned to their seats and the ribbon cutting and inevitable speeches were over, we started the Italian meal prepared by the super Italian chef. To our surprise it was quite edible and made a welcome change from spam and cabbage. Towards the end of the meal, a group from Derek's Engineering team arrived by the pool-side. These lads had been working flat out on the pool for months and they were now caught up in the great euphoria surrounding the opening party. They declared they would be the first to celebrate the new pool and promptly stripped off to bathing suits and jumped in. Unfortunately one had very bad cramp as soon as he hit the icy water and was clearly in trouble. He panicked, splashing wildly and taking great gulps of water. Bonnetti had just returned to the dinner tables, warmed up after a hot shower and now dressed in a tuxedo. He was the first to notice the boy in trouble and without hesitation ran to the pool edge and dived in head first. He managed to calm him down and dragged him to the poolside where I could lift him out.

This could have been a serious incident but the sight of Bonnetti drenched in his tuxedo made the crowd roar with laughter. When they realised what had happened, the soaked Bonnetti was given a standing ovation. ‘That Marco Polo is a real hero,' said two little boys who had been watching avidly.

The evening was closed by the Italian Fashion Show, sensationalised by the Italian press. But instead of desecrating religious sites, the fashion show took place as planned around the poolside. The latest woollen collection of an unheard-of Italian designer were paraded up and down by the surly Italian models, joined by four of the Miss Tibet contestants. The evening was brought to an abrupt end when the heavens let loose torrential rain and a gale swept across the pool area, blowing everything moveable into the water. The dignitaries ran for cover and the dreaded rounds of Mao Tai drinking were mercifully avoided.

The next day Barba said that some of his Italian friends would like to see Conny and myself about an ‘interesting proposition'. This turned out to be a job offer: setting up a marketing office specialising in what the Italian described as ‘f***ed-up countries'. The office would be based in Tuscany and the first contracts would be in Kjerkistan, Vietnam and Cuba.

By the time this job offer came I had extended my contract three times and sat through five National Day speeches. I felt privileged to have lived through such a time of change in Lhasa. It was just a pity that I didn't like any of the changes – the spreading urbanisation, the new concrete architecture, the threat to the Lhasa marshes and Lake Yamdrok. Martial Law had been and gone. The Tibetan General Manager of the Tibet Hotel had escaped to the West with all the hotel's money. Jacob had been caught pimping in the new Lhasa night clubs and our favourite guide, Renchen, who had won the prestigious ‘Guide of the Year' award, had been arrested for being just a bit too informative about the situation in Tibet. He was charged with ‘stealing state secrets' – a crime which carries the death penalty. Yes, it was definitely time to leave.

Conny and I accepted the job offer and set about planning our move. There were no freight companies in Lhasa and no conceivable way of sending our accumulated belongings back home. Tashi came up with the answer.

‘The Post Office, Mr Alec.'

‘Tashi, the Post Office couldn't even cope with our direct mail campaign, how are we going to send carpets, clothes, cameras and all this gear back to Europe?' I asked.

But Tashi was right. The Post Office, while unable to handle the most basic mailing functions, gladly accepted ‘surface mail' of any size or quantity. All we had to do was pack our possessions in farm sacks, take them to the Post Office for inspection by Customs officials, sew the farm sacks up and they would be delivered to our family homes in six weeks' time. The price was nominal. It seemed highly unlikely that it could possibly work but without any alternative, we asked Dorje to take us down to the Post Office for the last time, with twenty-one farm sacks squeezed in the back of the Landcruiser. We had not quite anticipated the reaction at the Post Office. The Customs official was a non-smiling Chinaman in a uniform – always a bad sign. He asked us to empty every one of the twenty-one sacks. Our carefully folded garments were tipped out of the bags and strewn across the filthy floor, attracting a large crowd of Tibetans. They picked through the items, taking a look at the curious things that Westerners ‘need'. The Customs official pushed them aside and minutely studied any item that might have been pre-1959.

‘Antique,' he said, pointing to an old vase Conny had picked up from the Barkhor. This was not permitted to be taken out, but otherwise we were allowed to stuff our now-filthy clothes and belongings back into the sacks and spend the rest of the afternoon sewing them up. We bid farewell to our goods and returned to the hotel.

Barba and Bonnetti had decided to leave Lhasa at the same time as us and a wave of farewell parties followed. Mao Ru Bai, the Vice-Governor of Tibet, gave the speeches at the official banquet. Jig Me translated for him: ‘Foreign managers find many things in Tibet. Mr Barba has completed his studies in religion here. Bonnetti has found our resourcefulness. But Mr Alec is the luckiest of all, because,' Jig Me chuckled, glancing across at me, ‘because,' he continued, ‘Mr Alec has found Miss Conny!'

And I had been stupid enough to think that we had kept that a secret. I should have listened to the words of the Holiday Inn Vice President in Hong Kong – they really do know when you break wind.

After the party Tashi asked me if I could do a favour for him. He wanted to travel to America to visit his uncle but was having trouble getting a visa. He asked if I could have a word with the Consulate in Chengdu on my way out of China. Naturally, I said that I would help however I could.

Tibet leaves a lasting impression on all who visit and I found it difficult to say farewell. I cannot imagine what it must be like for the Tibetans who flee into exile, knowing that as they cross the border and turn to look back into Tibet for a final time, they will never be returning to their homeland until it is free.

On the other hand, Mr Li in Chengdu was extremely grateful that he had not been called up to Lhasa. As always, his assistance was invaluable and to help us with our overweight baggage, he slipped a few of the cases around the outside of the metal detector and straight through to the loading belt.
‘Guangxi'
he whispered, tapping his nose. ‘Never forget your connections.' We thanked him and boarded the aircraft for our final flight on CAAC.

‘Was there a person named Alec Le Sueur on the passenger list?' my mother asked over the phone to the British Embassy in Beijing. ‘You haven't been supplied with any details? But it has been on the news. A CAAC plane has crashed this morning in southern China, killing all on board.'

EPILOGUE

It was when Conny and I sat with Barba in the office of the Cuban military headquarters in Havana, surrounded by photos of small men in army fatigues with large guns, long beards and rows and rows of dead birds that I realised Barba's idea of opening up a Cuban nature reserve for tourism was different to mine.

‘Isn't this a great opportunity?' he said. ‘We can sell hunting trips to the Italians, Alec, they will love it!' Was this really the Italians' idea of eco-tourism? Pristine nature combined with blasting hummingbirds out of the sky?

I was still recovering from the shock that Barba had joined the same outfit and that once again we would be working together – something that I had promised I would never do. Conny and I were left in no doubt after the hummingbird proposal – we had to get out of this organisation. We parted company quite acrimoniously: the cheque Barba had written to pay for our flights to Cuba bounced and we didn't hear from him for over a year. I was back home in Jersey in a new career and life, when Barba called out of the blue, asking me to join him once again for a marketing project, this time involving a six-month stint and five-star hotels in Morocco.

‘It will be like the good old days,' he promised. ‘Alec, we're going to have fun!'

I was pleased to have spoken again to Barba on good terms, as two days after the call, on 27 April 1994, he died from a blood clot on the brain. I only hope that it was while ‘doing one of his numbers'. Barba, by his own admission, was not a man to grow old.

The situation in Tibet has not improved since I left in the mid-1990s. Tashi did get his visa to go to the US but did not use the return part of his ticket and was last seen in a photograph taken at a Free Tibet rally in Washington, holding up the Tibetan independence flag. While the flag has long been outlawed in Tibet, the authorities have now even banned possession of Dalai Lama photographs, as they have toughened their stance against the ‘Dalai clique' and the troublesome ‘splittists'. Rioting and protests against Chinese rule break out every now and again, with the Chinese still as dumbfounded as ever as to why the Tibetans are not more appreciative of everything that has been done for them. Where I looked out upon mud buildings, nomads camped in the main square and herds of yaks driven along the streets, there are now high-rise buildings, tarmac roads and traffic lights. The nomads have been given concrete ‘housing' and a new railroad to Lhasa cuts across their pastures bringing more Chinese settlers by the day. What more could the Tibetans want?

Looking for some good news to come out of all of this, after a great deal of pressure from Amnesty International and many individuals, I am very pleased to say that Holiday Inn's ‘Guide of the Year' – Renchen – was released from prison.

And Jig Me finally had his day, when, on 8 August 1997, Holiday Inn withdrew from Tibet and the hotel became the ‘Lhasa Hotel' once more. It was the end of the unholy Party A and Party B marriage. No more Holiday Inn to pay money to. No more Party B managers to get into trouble. It was Jig Me's dream come true – just Party A to run the hotel as they saw fit. You may see some claims that Holiday Inn withdrew from Lhasa due to pressure from misguided Free Tibet campaigners who mounted a boycott against them, but the truth is far simpler – the Holiday Inn contract had come to an end and Party A wanted to run the hotel themselves. Free from Holiday Inn interference, Jig Me planned to take the hotel to the five-star level. I wish him every luck with this, although I'm not sure he is quite there yet, with recent comments on Trip Advisor such as ‘What a dump!' and ‘Unfit for human occupancy' showing that there is still some way to go.

As for me, Mao Ru Bai was right when he said at our leaving party that I was the luckiest person in Lhasa: Miss Conny and I married in her native Belgium the year after leaving Tibet. This started a new chapter in my life: family, home, career, study and a curious fascination for a country which on the interesting-to-boring scale is at the opposite end to Tibet: Belgium. I discovered that Belgium is not quite as boring as you may think (or at least as I thought, you may happen to think that Belgium is very exciting) – but that's another story.

When I look back at my years in Tibet I realise now that I was very fortunate to be there at a unique time in Tibet's history – just as it was opened up to the outside world in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The clash of three giant cultures – Communism, Buddhism and Capitalism – was at its peak, leading to the many surreal situations described in this book. While I have made occasional references to the background politics and religion, I did not set out to cover these areas in any detail, and there are many people with a far, far greater knowledge of the politics, history and religion of Tibet than me. My aim has been to provide you with an insight into life at the ‘unlikeliest Holiday Inn in the world' at this special time in Tibet's history and hopefully bring some understanding and humour to an area which is usually written about in such a depressing and soul-destroying manner. I hope that after reading the book you will be encouraged to visit Tibet. When you do visit, take a look at the Lhasa Hotel – you will recognise it from the large green sign outside which says: ‘The Former – Holiday Inn' at the bottom. If you are not already staying there, call in for a Giant Yak Burger in the Hard Yak Cafe, and please pass greetings to the staff from Mr Alec and Miss Conny. Tell them we have thought of them often over the last twenty years. If you are staying there in room 3101, check that I picked up all the bits of bone from behind the luggage stand and if you go to Shigatse (and took notes in chapter 12), you will know which hotel room to avoid.

 

Alec Le Sueur