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For two whole days, we had the glaciers to look at. We mountaineers were more strongly attracted to the majestic Gurla Manthata, mirrored in the waters of Lake Manasarovaor, than by the Sacred Mountain. We pitched our tents on the shore of the lake and feasted our eyes on the indescribably beautiful picture of this tremendous mountain, which seemed to grow out of the lake. This is certainly one of the loveliest spots on earth. The lake is held to be sacred, and around it one finds many small monasteries in which the pilgrims lodge and perform their devotions. Many pilgrims creep around the lake on their hands and knees, and carry home jars of the holy water. Every pilgrim bathes in its icy cold water. We did likewise, though not from piety. Here I nearly came to grief. After swimming out some little way from the shore, I got into a boggy place from which I extricated myself only with a tremendous effort. My comrades had not noticed my desperate struggle to get clear of the mud.
As we were, at this time of year, a little in advance of the pilgrimage, most of the people we met were traders. We saw also many suspicious-looking people, for this region is notorious as the El Dorado of robbers, who find it hard to resist the temptation to attack the traders frequenting the markets. The biggest market in the region is that of Gyanyaima. Here hundreds of tents form a huge camp given over to buying and selling. The tents of the Indians are made out of cheap cotton material, while those of the Tibetans are woven from yak's hair and are so heavy that it takes one or even two yaks to carry them.