I woke up too early, probably
because the Chinese group on the floor below had departed at 4.30 am; I must
have become confused. Eventually, when the
breakfast of steamed bread and honey was finished, we set off to find the
precise coordinates, which marked a good spot for the observation.
There were at least two experts amongst us, and they discussed the ascension stars, the proximity of mercury and the distance
of the nearest mountain to our spot. It
was good; our excitement increased from overhearing their knowledgeable
banter. Some of us felt rather absurd, travelling thousands of miles for just 4 minutes of darkness. Nevertheless, it was the phenomenon that we all sought and it had already been
witnessed from other places. These far flung sites made great anecdotes to share
with one another. There was the one on
the Lizard in Cornwall in 1999, the one in the Soviet Union the year before, the
friend of a friend who had been to Egypt to see it, and the commitment to
the next one, in Wyoming, in 2012. Suddenly,
we had galvanised as Eclipse Chasers.
En route, we passed several Tibetan
watch towers in the area known locally as “Minyag”. These towers were built with mathematical designs
of 8 corners, star and square shapes from the 11th century
onwards. The village homes were brightly
decorated with ornate window sills presenting the phases of the moon, Buddhist mandalas
and colourful flowers. Dahlias and
cornflowers floated above the front flower beds. There was a sense of prosperity
and community about the area.
As we
continued, we started to descend deeper into the valley. It was lower down than we had anticipated, but we
followed the course of the river, passing meadows full of wild
orchids, harebells and cowslips.
Then we paused, checked the map, and
scuttled out of the bus with as much of our equipment as we could carry. It had already started, from 8.00am or so, and
now it was getting seriously close to the time of totality. What if we missed it? At 9.07 a local farmer passing on his
motorbike, stopped to wonder why we were staring up at the bright sun in the middle of the road. Francis passed him an eclipse viewer, with a bit of adjustment, he nodded in agreement, yes, the sun was getting
darker.
By 9.10am, the sky was dark and
the atmosphere had changed. Everything was calmer and there was less noise a very few
disturbances. Only the horizon was
glowing with the last glimpses of the sunlight.
Someone counted the duration, one minute, two minutes, three minutes,
four minutes...
After we witnessed the solar
eclipse, we drove onwards across the plains to Litang. It was a long drive and we passed nomads on
the plains keeping yak and children in harsh, but beautiful surroundings. The roads were difficult, but they presented
a challenge to the Chinese cyclists who were making a 30 day journey to
Lhasa from Chengdu.
When we finally made it to
Litang, our hotel manager announced that there was no possibility of our staying
the night, on account of the sub-station, which had been vandalised for metal
the night before. the robbery had cut the power supply to the whole street. Amused, but in need of comfort, we found a “foreigners
accepted” hotel of dubious sobriety and dropped our bags there. Dinner was eaten across the road at Mr Zheng’s
Lonely Planet approved restaurant.
Oh
my, Litang...what a wild and dusty town!
There were horses tied up in the street, staggering boys, colourful
suits, furry hats, boom boxes blaring...all sorts of wild capers carrying on. Of course, we were cautioned by our guide not to sign
anything or to speak about anything untoward to anyone.
Harmony and perfection don’t always ride side by side. What a great town.
