It
was the last day of their trip to Tibet with Journeys International,
the thirty-year-old global ecotourism company based in Ann Arbor,
Michigan. The ride five days before along Mekong River valley had
given Annika several beautiful photographs of the sun rising behind
Mt. Meilixue, and that night’s dip in the hot springs at Yunnan had
left her rejuvenated for the climb up the high pass of Mt. Dongdala
the next morning.
Annika had taken time away from watching the beautiful Tibetan landscape below her to reload her camera, a gift from her mother especially for this trip. Nikolai was sound asleep in the seat next to her, unaware of the dizzying effects of the altitude. The sun shined bright into the valley far below them as she fought to get more film into the camera.
They had arrived in Lhasa the day before and visited the Jokhang Temple. It had taken Annika some time to get used to the scent of juniper incense that wafted through the city. Despite the obvious bustle of this time-honored city, she couldn’t believe there wasn’t a single McDonalds, or any fast food restaurant for that matter. Nikolai had busied himself trying to draw the symbols used on the fabric that covered the oversized sofas in the hotel room. This trip had been meant to bring them closer together, but after the eleven days spent on the Tibetan highways, she felt more distant from him than ever.
They’d been married for ten years. Her mother had given them this trip as an anniversary gift, along with the camera for her and the sketch pad and charcoal pencils for him. It hurt that on their last day, as she packed her camera and shoulder bag for a visit to the Potala Palace, he didn’t want to go. He told her it had been a long trip, and he wanted to rest up for the flight back to the states.
She tried to visit all of the thousand rooms of the home of the fifth Dalai Lama, each with a small, wrinkled lama on a bench sipping tea and nodding appreciatively when one of the tourists dropped a fen or jiao into a brass pan. By the end of the day she was exhausted, and she’d seen less than half of the Potala Palace. Nikoali was laying on the bed, propped on the zebra-striped pillows, drawing a rough interpretation of the Jokhang Temple, when she returned to the hotel. Annika sighed and dropped her bags on the bed before heading into the oversized bathroom for a long bath in the double tub.
She closed her eyes and spread her arms in the wide bathtub. He should have come in with me she thought as she gathered the bubbles to her chest and pushed them away again. Perhaps we have become too different over the years. She jumped when Nikolai opened the door. He eyed her, then made his way to the urinal, did his business, and walked out. Annika wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
The next morning, she finally confronted him. It had been going on for months, this need of his to get away from her. She asked him, finally, after a slew of complaints, where he thought their marriage was heading. He didn’t answer. They finished packing and checked out of the lovely little hotel. Their ride to the Gonggar International Airport was silent but for the polite chatter of the driver. The Kyichu River Valley was particularly beautiful that morning, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, Annika did not feel like taking pictures. As they passed over the hazy blue Kyichu River, she wondered what she would tell her mother. She must have cleaned out her savings to give them this trip, hoping that two weeks away from their little town in Pennsylvania would put the spark back into their marriage.
It hadn’t worked. They were miserable. She glanced over at Nikolai. He sat content in the seat next to her, his sketch pad on his lap and his charcoal pencil in his left hand, scribbling out the back of the driver’s head. Annika returned her gaze to the window. She watched an old woman leading a yak down the road past a willow-lined orchard. The trip would have been magnificent if only Nikolai had actually been there with her. He wasn’t. He was off in his own little world somewhere, completely ignoring her existence. They’d barely spoken the whole trip. Indeed, they’d barely spoken in months. He’d begun sleeping on the couch a few weeks before their anniversary. Annika couldn’t stand it.
Nikolai pretended to sleep on the plane. Annika went to the bathroom and called her mother as soon as they were within U.S. airspace. She cried about the trip, about Nikolai, about not seeing all of the Potala Palace, about the zebra-striped pillows and the painfully cheerful colors. Her mother sighed, trying to comfort her. She promised her she’d be at the airport when they landed. Perhaps Nikolai just needed a little refresher course on what it was like to be lonely. Annika agreed.
She followed Nikolai through the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport to collect their luggage. Her bags in hand, she angrily flipped her hair over her shoulder and went in search of her mother. Nikolai ignored her, making his way toward the exit on his own. Annika caught him though, as he must have expected. He kissed the young blonde in the driver’s seat of a black Mercedes, placed his bags in the back seat, and made himself comfortable next to her.
He knew she saw him. He met her eyes. Their beautiful trip had meant nothing to him. Ten years of marriage had meant nothing to him. She asked her mother to drive her home. Two days later, her lovely photographs were hanging in her basement dark room, and so was Annika.
Annika had taken time away from watching the beautiful Tibetan landscape below her to reload her camera, a gift from her mother especially for this trip. Nikolai was sound asleep in the seat next to her, unaware of the dizzying effects of the altitude. The sun shined bright into the valley far below them as she fought to get more film into the camera.
They had arrived in Lhasa the day before and visited the Jokhang Temple. It had taken Annika some time to get used to the scent of juniper incense that wafted through the city. Despite the obvious bustle of this time-honored city, she couldn’t believe there wasn’t a single McDonalds, or any fast food restaurant for that matter. Nikolai had busied himself trying to draw the symbols used on the fabric that covered the oversized sofas in the hotel room. This trip had been meant to bring them closer together, but after the eleven days spent on the Tibetan highways, she felt more distant from him than ever.
They’d been married for ten years. Her mother had given them this trip as an anniversary gift, along with the camera for her and the sketch pad and charcoal pencils for him. It hurt that on their last day, as she packed her camera and shoulder bag for a visit to the Potala Palace, he didn’t want to go. He told her it had been a long trip, and he wanted to rest up for the flight back to the states.
She tried to visit all of the thousand rooms of the home of the fifth Dalai Lama, each with a small, wrinkled lama on a bench sipping tea and nodding appreciatively when one of the tourists dropped a fen or jiao into a brass pan. By the end of the day she was exhausted, and she’d seen less than half of the Potala Palace. Nikoali was laying on the bed, propped on the zebra-striped pillows, drawing a rough interpretation of the Jokhang Temple, when she returned to the hotel. Annika sighed and dropped her bags on the bed before heading into the oversized bathroom for a long bath in the double tub.
She closed her eyes and spread her arms in the wide bathtub. He should have come in with me she thought as she gathered the bubbles to her chest and pushed them away again. Perhaps we have become too different over the years. She jumped when Nikolai opened the door. He eyed her, then made his way to the urinal, did his business, and walked out. Annika wanted to cry, but she didn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
The next morning, she finally confronted him. It had been going on for months, this need of his to get away from her. She asked him, finally, after a slew of complaints, where he thought their marriage was heading. He didn’t answer. They finished packing and checked out of the lovely little hotel. Their ride to the Gonggar International Airport was silent but for the polite chatter of the driver. The Kyichu River Valley was particularly beautiful that morning, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, Annika did not feel like taking pictures. As they passed over the hazy blue Kyichu River, she wondered what she would tell her mother. She must have cleaned out her savings to give them this trip, hoping that two weeks away from their little town in Pennsylvania would put the spark back into their marriage.
It hadn’t worked. They were miserable. She glanced over at Nikolai. He sat content in the seat next to her, his sketch pad on his lap and his charcoal pencil in his left hand, scribbling out the back of the driver’s head. Annika returned her gaze to the window. She watched an old woman leading a yak down the road past a willow-lined orchard. The trip would have been magnificent if only Nikolai had actually been there with her. He wasn’t. He was off in his own little world somewhere, completely ignoring her existence. They’d barely spoken the whole trip. Indeed, they’d barely spoken in months. He’d begun sleeping on the couch a few weeks before their anniversary. Annika couldn’t stand it.
Nikolai pretended to sleep on the plane. Annika went to the bathroom and called her mother as soon as they were within U.S. airspace. She cried about the trip, about Nikolai, about not seeing all of the Potala Palace, about the zebra-striped pillows and the painfully cheerful colors. Her mother sighed, trying to comfort her. She promised her she’d be at the airport when they landed. Perhaps Nikolai just needed a little refresher course on what it was like to be lonely. Annika agreed.
She followed Nikolai through the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport to collect their luggage. Her bags in hand, she angrily flipped her hair over her shoulder and went in search of her mother. Nikolai ignored her, making his way toward the exit on his own. Annika caught him though, as he must have expected. He kissed the young blonde in the driver’s seat of a black Mercedes, placed his bags in the back seat, and made himself comfortable next to her.
He knew she saw him. He met her eyes. Their beautiful trip had meant nothing to him. Ten years of marriage had meant nothing to him. She asked her mother to drive her home. Two days later, her lovely photographs were hanging in her basement dark room, and so was Annika.