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Each time, Mao made us get out and walk as he four-wheeled through the mud and fields. Michael, Imed and Will tried to explain that more weight in the car would help him make it through the mud. Lakba translated this to Mao. He refused to consider any advice from young American whippersnappers. But as we walked, we saw him pile huge boulders into the back seat.

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While we walked the rough parts, Tibetans approached us eager to trade. Imed negotiated a knife for two polaroids and 75 Renminbi (just under $10 US). Michael traded a Nepalese ring for a turquoise Tibetan one. Then finally around six, we made it to Lhatze. What a dump; it was a truck stop fashioned with cheap Chinese architecture. Soppy Chinese pop blared out of each shop. And, we learned that the car had given out so we would have to spend the night.

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In the morning, much to our shock and happiness, a new car had arrived. However, the new Land Cruiser had one less seat. Will piled in back with the luggage, and I squished in back with Lakba, Imed and Michael, as we sped out of town toward Xigatse. Clouds hovered over the hills as the Bramaputra wound through the peaks. Magenta rocks and mud covered one mountain. Totally unexpected colors popped up everywhere. The distant hills were like a pastel dream with purples, browns and yellows. Earthy oranges colored the nearby landscape. Overhead was the ever ultra-blue sky.

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Disembarking in Xigatse, we headed towards Tashilumpo monastery. Founded by Gedun Drupa, the first Dalai Lama, it is the traditional residence of the Panchen Lama and one of the six great Gelupa (Yellow Hat) Monastaries. The previous Panchen Lamas' bodies are entombed in huge gold and jewel encrusted stupas. This is one of the few monasteries that escaped the Cultural Revolution mainly intact. The most impressive sight is a 26-meter Maitreya, the future Buddha, housed in a similarly tall chapel. Lakba gave us the tour of all the temples, quite knowledgeably introducing us to all the golden Protector Gods, Buddhas and Lamas. The temples were dimly lit by yak butter lamps, which with the incense created a heady smell that permeated our time in Tibet.

Prior to our entrance into the Monastery, Lakba warned us to watch what we said. Although still a functioning monastery, it is rumored that English-speaking-Chinese monk spies are watching for anyone to step out of line. The most recent Tibetan-chosen Panchen Lama was taken as a Chinese political prisoner. Only a child, he is feared dead. A Chinese chosen successor replaced him and now lives in Beijing.

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As we tore towards Lhasa, Micheal engaged Lakba in a religious debate. Scientific methods and spiritual beliefs were bantered back and forth as we raced through cliffs cut by the Kyi Chu River. As neither would give way to the others' views, I was pleased when we arrived at the outskirts of Lhasa, at Nam Orphanage.

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Prior to leaving New York, Imed had thoughtfully called the Office of Tibet. He told them the route he was taking and asked if there was anything needed along the Friendship Highway. The office told him there was an orphanage in need of supplies. In response Imed has purchased a whole giant duffle bag of toys, school supplies, medicine and candy and had carried it since his arrival in Katmandu. Upon our arrival, he graciously invited all of us participate in his gift giving.

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Imed, Sachicko, Will, Michael and I stacked up all the goodies as the 'Stepmother', a twenty-something saint that takes care of the children, told us stories about how each of the children ended up in the orphanage. Then they began to arrive. Twenty sweet-faced kids in Chinese school uniforms eagerly shook hands with each of us. Their eyes lit up and they smiled from ear to ear as they checked out everything that Imed had brought.

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After we received the tour, we went to the orphanage courtyard. Imed brought out his ever popular polaroid and took a picture of each of the children with the stepmother and gave it to them. They all walked around proudly showing us their snapshot. One little boy hung on to my hand and led me to see each one of the pictures. Another eagerly manipulated Michael's digital camera, immediately mastering the advanced editing functions that had taken Michael a month to understand. One little three-year-old, who had been left under a bridge, happily played with her new Barbie, oblivious to the activity surrounding her.

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We hugged each of the children over and over as we said goodbye. Shouts of "thank you very much" and "see you soon" were punctuated with energetic waves as we pulled out of the courtyard. Tears came to my eyes, as all of us in the car said, "thank you very much" to Imed.

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At dusk, we reached the end of our journey. It is true, ugly Chinese cement block and white tile monstrosities do crowd the new Chinese-style wide boulevards. The Potala, though, still rises magnificently above Lhasa. Surrounded by green hills, its yellow, white and red geometry overpowers the city. Although it is now only a museum, it seems it sits awaiting a return to glory.