At fourteen I read books about Buddhism, yoga and the magic land of Tibet at night. I could not imagine that one day my own tracks would cross Tibetan snow. Eighteen years later a ticket to Beijing was in my pocket.
I once came across a phrase: you don’t go to Tibet, you accept an invitation. Mine came from a man I had met by chance on a climbing forum. Kirill is a sinologist who has lived in China for fourteen years and returns to Tibet every year. Our goal was Kham, a forgotten corner of eastern Tibet.
At the dentist I parted with a tooth I did not trust. A kind of sacrifice. Then I packed my rucksack, and it waited for the day together with me.


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