The 1997 March for Tibet's Independence started March 10 in Toronto, and wound it's way over 600 miles and 3 months to the UN in New York City on June 14. But in many ways the march started right here in Bloomington in the mind of Professor Thubten Jigme Norbu.

76 year old Norbu hatched the plan and led the walk in which a core of 10 to 15 people ( half Tibetan, half Westerners) pretty much walked the entire way, or at least a good chunk of it. Over 500 people showed up on the last day, which really was an International event, but the whole weight of the walk came down upon the shoulders of those few souls who simply decided to get out in blinding snow and miserable rain and walk 600 miles for Tibet.

Along the way incredible stories were cultivated, each one unique to each person on the walk. The intensity of feelings, encounters meditations and little lessons that peppered each moment of the walk unfolded differently for each person.

I'm Jeff Napier, and I joined the walk on May 18 and walked the last leg into NYC. What follows is what I experienced and witnessed through my demented gaze, everything that follows is absolutely true. I swear. Katie Murphy, my constant partner in crime, made the entire trek, her images from the walk accompany this piece. Dr. Larry Gerstein is the director of the Indianapolis-based - and grassroots as all get out - International Tibet Independence Movement, which put the walk together. He let us stay at his parents place in Brooklyn.

Memorial Day 1997. New Canaan, Conn. The richest town in America, home of David Letterman, Paul Newman, Martha Stewart. I'm sitting by an indoor pool on the spacious grounds of Sandra Ross' beautiful mansion just outside of town, two blocks over from Dave's house. The sun's shining and the pool is inviting and warm, but I think I might just ride into town, have some espresso at Starbucks and idle the time away watching Donna Karan-attired housewives pass by.

Welcome to the March For Tibet's Independence.

We have been walking, through hills and dales so ancient that the mysteries of the ages seem whispered with each breath of the wind, each rustle of the trees. The 15 to 20 marchers prod along in thoughtful solitude, or in quiet conversation with one another. Out on the road, the bosom of America opens its bounties and the true spirit of this country shines through, whether it's a pick-up with a hillbilly couple asking why we don't just nuke "that damn China," or strangers who spontaneously open their hearts and homes to a group of walkers carrying flags and banners and signs. In a day where the American spirit is constantly bombarded by paranoia, shame and outrage, it is an amazingly uplifting thing to experience what the talk shows and newscasts refuse to report: that people are still more likely to feed you and ask how you're doing than rob you and murder you.

There's a labyrinth outside the front door of St. Gabriel's Monastery and Retreat House, which lies about 25 miles north of Scranton, Pennsylvania. The labyrinth is a dirt trail that meanders around and around, about 50 yards long and six inches wide. It's purpose is the contemplation of the downward spiral into sin and subsequent renewal. As some of the Tibetans wound through the paths it struck me that, unlike the labyrinth, their descent into Hell held no end to turn around in, no clear way out.

St. Gabriel's is run by 25 or so Passionist Nuns who are pretty much self-sufficient. The sisters range in age from 40 to 92, and all of them were as kind and generous to a bunch of smelly Tibetans and long-haired Westerners as they could be.

We gave a presentation to the sisters, complete with a surreal "puppet" show by this dude named John who had joined the walk a few times. All through the presentation the nuns were attentive, concerned and full of questions. When we'd do our semi-nightly Buddhist prayers, an older nun would join us, praying and doing her rosary. Buddhism and Christianity working together for the common good, what a concept.

So, from the peace and love of the fine sisters of St. Gabriel's, we went to this guy Carl's place in the middle of nowhere. Here, paranoia and distrust revisited those of us who'd seemingly forgotten them.

In afterthought, Carl was a good guy. He lived in a farmhouse his family had lived in since the middle of the 19th century. Like the sisters at St. Gabriel's, Carl was pretty self-sufficient, with a garden, raspberry patch, apple orchard and a huge freezer. He had served his country in Vietnam, and now enjoyed the simple life this part of the country has so much of.

He had a "sugar house" in back which was simply a barn where Carl supposedly made maple syrup that he sold to area merchants. I say "supposedly" because the equipment and containers looked like they'd been sitting idle for a good long time. There was a surprising lack of syrup considering that his season of tapping and processing the maple ooze should have ended only a short time before we got there.

That wasn't the half of it. Carl was, ah, just not quite right. He had a "system" for everything from washing dishes to picking up sticks in the yard. He had a room upstairs that was sealed and stuffed with towels around the cracks (Mother's room?). His freezer was big enough to accommodate a couple of corpses; sharp axes and hacksaws were everywhere. Not long after we arrived, Professor Norbu asked Carl why his VCR, which was surrounded by piles and piles of video tapes, kept clicking on and off. "I tape all the weather reports throughout the day," was Carl's reply.

There was a full moon that evening, and it was Buddha's birthday, so we had a special ceremony, or puja. Around a makeshift shrine in Carl's living room, next to the VCR clicking on and off, were bowls of offerings: shortbread cookies, fruit, Little Debbie cakes, a small dish of meat, and finally, a bottle of Budweiser and a can of Mountain Dew. Chants were chanted; blessings were said. The offerings were passed around, along with the beer and Mountain Dew. A special plate, filled from each of our own plates, was set outside as an offering for Buddha via critters.

Later that evening, as the four of us who couldn't fit in the house were preparing to go to bed in the RV, Larry laughingly said, "I'm really afraid to go down to the basement, guys. I keep getting the image of Carl lining us up down there and shooting us all with a shotgun." Immediately I closed and locked all the doors and windows to the RV. Now, of course, it seems silly and a bit shameful to think that I was actually afraid of Carl killing me, I mean, he was just an eccentric soul who was kind enough to open his home and hearth. Carl, if you read this, I really don't think you're a bad guy. Really.

But we didn't have much time to think about Carl after we left. We had a day of walking ahead of us, and after that, we were moving to the mansion in New Canaan to prepare for our special audience with His Holiness The Dalai Lama the following day.

It was Memorial Day weekend; the area we were walking in was packed with yuppies on holiday. Cops had roadblocks set up to check for open containers, seatbelts and presumably, Carl. After lunch, a couple of hillbilly-looking guys stopped by and told us to stop at their hunting lodge just up the road. When we got there, the guys had put out a sign in the front that read: Bellemonte Chapter of Independence For Tibet. They offered us water, beer and other liquor and then took our pictures in front of their hunting lodge. They weren't as much interested in Tibet as they were in getting a picture for their cabin.

When we got to New Canaan, the scene was ugly. Everybody was tired, bitchy and excited at the same time. And still Larry insisted we have a meeting dealing with the various protocols of our audience with His Holiness.

Protocol, when it comes to a Dalai Lama audience, is an ever-deepening pool of madness that deals with what to say (be absolutely silent unless His Holiness speaks directly to you), the order in which we are received (Tibetan men first, then Tibetan women, the Westerners who'd been walking most of the time, and finally, the Westerners who had been helping coordinate and organize the walk), what to do when He walks into the room (prostrate three times), what to do when He meets you (hold a silk kata and your offering envelope, bow your head, and again say nothing), what to wear (traditional dress for the Tibetans, nice clothes for the westerners) and even what to write on the offering envelope (your name and the dollar amount).

The meeting took forever. The longer it took, the more everybody kept getting up and moving around, and the more everybody kept getting up and moving around, the madder Larry got. On top of all that, it was nearly 1 a.m. Madness reigned.

The next morning found us at a Marriott in a place called Fishkill, N.Y. -- where the audience was to take place. I was all dressed nicely and even smelled half-way decent, but nevertheless, by the time our 4:30 audience was to begin, I was a bundle of nerves. Think about it. It had been three years, three walks and almost 900 miles after the first March for Tibet's Independence got underway in Bloomington in 1995, and the path of those walking for Tibet's Independence was finally to intersect that of The Dalai Lama. The Man who is all about the middle way is finally meeting a group of people all about Independence with a capital I.

Norbu, being His Holiness' oldest brother, was the first to greet The Dalai Lama and then he stood by introducing everyone who followed. We all walked up with our katas and offering envelopes in hand. First, a monk draped another kata around our neck. Then, as we stood in front of The Dalai Lama, He took the kata we offered and draped them around our necks and gave us each an autographed photo while a representative standing next to Him reached in and deftly plucked the offering envelope out of the intimate chaos. It was over in five seconds. Yet there was hardly a dry eye in the place.

After the meet and greet, we all sat before His Holiness. He began to address us by asking about the well-being of the group: were there any problems, did anyone get sick? Any blisters? He then launched into his address to the walkers.

"I just want to say with sincere motivation you volunteered to participate in this peace march, and I thank you," His Holiness stated. Then, referring to His brother, He said, "I always listen to the Tibetan broadcasts, Radio Free Asia and the Voice of America Tibet Service. So, from time to time, I have heard Taktser Rinpoche and other Tibetans talking about the walk. Especially hearing Taktser Rinpoche's words in Amdo dialect, I am very much moved. So, thank you very much."

Then, to the Westerners, He said, "And for you Americans who are walking and helping, I want to say that, of course, we Tibetans have lost our country and our people are suffering very much, so it is our duty, our moral responsibility to do something. Because of your love of justice and for the Tibetan nation and the Tibetan culture, you Americans have happily joined our movement which we appreciate. Thank you. There is no doubt that Tibetans inside Tibet, when they hear about such a movement like your walk, it certainly gives them inspiration."

After that, many of us got to spend a lazy week at Sandra Ross' mansion. It wasn't long before cabin fever began to set in. One morning, we had a fire puja, solely because the Tibetan walkers said it was one of The Dalai Lama's good days. They never explained clearly why it was a good day, but nobody challenged it.

So a fire was built with pine sprigs, incense and paper. There was chanting and pinches of barley and drops of rum were passed around in a sort of a Buddhist communion. There was more chanting and then barley was placed on our right shoulders and another pinch was given to us to toss into the air. Everyone was festive, and the warm sunny day did much to bolster that feeling. So, we all begged Dadon to sing a song, which she did, a wonderful, lilting Tibetan folk song. Then everybody started taking turns, singing more Tibetan folk songs and even "Amazing Grace."

That evening culminated in a huge, elaborate and intricately planned "water puja" that involved everybody getting soaked with over 60 water balloons and a couple water guns. Why this mission of madness was carried out isn't really important; it proved to be as significant a part of the walk as putting one foot in front of the other.

On the way up to the studio, Norbu had asked if the interview was to be about the March for Tibet's Independence. When Larry told him it was for a special on his brother, he playfully said, "I have nothing to say. Why do they want to talk to me?" Once inside the studio, however, that notion went right out the window. Interviewed by Katherine Pope, a fresh, young pretty thing, Norbu was a virtual flood of words and stories.

Talking about his mother, life as a monk, the coming of the Chinese and Norbu's subsequent attempts to get his brother to fight for his country, the interview lasted for nearly two hours. Pope displayed an extraordinary and surprising knowledge of Tibet in general, and Norbu in particular. She later admitted to poring over dozens of books, articles and films and even Norbu's CIA files in preparation for the interview, proof that some of the major media DO know their shit.

After the interview, we piled into a car and sped uptown to the outskirts of Harlem to The Cathedral of St. John the Divine for the Code of Conduct on Arms Transfers thing. We were ushered to a room, and before long it was full of U.S. Senators and Congresspersons, Nobel Peace Prize winners and a group of Hoosiers that included myself, Pema, Katie, Larry and Norbu.

By the time His Holiness arrived and began making the rounds shaking hands, sharing hugs and private words, the room was stifling with the overabundance of power and intellect. I just kept my mouth shut and worked the video camera for Katie. What did I have to say to these people? "How about those Cubs?" or maybe, "Gentlemen start your engines"?

As the group moved over to the Synod Hall for the press conference, we were met outside by autograph seekers and a couple of other camera crews. Once inside the hall, there was the explosion of hundreds of flash bulbs and the seething wolfpack of international journalists. We knew it was to be an important event, but it wasn't until we encountered the press corps waiting inside that we realized the weight of the situation. Somehow, Katie and I had finagled ourselves a front row seat to history in the making.

Rep. Cynthia McKinney (D-GA), who was the sponsor of the Arms Trade Code of Conduct in the United States House of Representatives, introduced the Nobel Peace Laureates and representatives of Nobel Peace Prize winning organizations who gathered to sign the Code of Conduct. The list included His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Dr. Oscar Arias, Dr. Jose Ramos- Horta, Dr. Elie Weisel, Betty Williams, Dr. Donald Gann of American Friends Service Committee, Dr. Susan Waltz of Amnesty International and Dr. Gururaj Mutalik of International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War. Not exactly the kind of people you'd see on a Sally Jesse show.

What followed were speeches and addresses of the sort that are mandatory to such occasions long, ponderous, but never boring, given the caliber of the minds present on the stage. Before the Laureates began their speeches, McKinney ended her introduction by calling for the Clinton Administration "to not sidestep the moral issue of selling to repressive regimes around the world, weapons whose only function is to kill people."

Then, Dr. Oscar Arias took the podium explaining just what the International Code of Conduct on Arms Transfers was and what it meant to the world. "We come from different nations with varied histories and in the past the world has honored each of our struggles for peace and justice with a Nobel Prize for Peace," Dr. Arias said.

"Today we speak as one to voice our common concern regarding the destructive effects of the unregulated arms trade. Together we have written an International Code of Conduct on Arms Transfers which, once adopted by all arms-selling nations, will benefit all humanity, nationalities, ethnicities and religions. This International Code of Conduct would govern all arms transfers including conventional weapons and munitions, military and security training, and sensitive military dual-use technologies. The code stipulates that any country wishing to purchase arms must meet certain criteria, including the promotion of democracy, the protection of human rights and transparency in military spending. It would also prohibit arms sales to nations that support terrorism and to states that are engaged in aggression against other nations or peoples."

Dr. Arias finished by saying, "To make this code of conduct a reality may take some time, but humanity, my friends, cannot wait. The poor and the forsaken cannot wait. There is no time to delay. We know that with a fraction of the resources now dedicated to weapon procurement, it would be possible to resolve the most serious problems of health, education, hunger and housing which afflict the world and within a reasonable time period."

After Arias, the man whom most of the assembled masses were waiting to hear, took the stand. From the applause He garnered, you'd have thought it was Mick Jagger or Bono, but, nope. The man of the hour was The Dalai Lama.

"Some time ago, in Berlin, I was told this idea (Code of Conduct). I full-heartedly supported it, and now I am very very happy that the idea materialized, and also, that many Nobel Laureates fully support it," His Holiness began in His bell-clear voice. "So, I think it's very encouraging. Also, it seems many young people are also responding with great enthusiasm. This is very encouraging. Now this is not enough - just enthusiasm. You must carry responsibility to materialize effectively about this idea."

Later, The Dalai Lama explained His concept of disarmament. "I always emphasize there should be two kinds of disarmament. One internal disarmament. One external disarmament. Now this (Code of Conduct) is very important as a first step of external disarmament, and also goes with internal disarmament. We are proceeding to reduce weapons and restrictions of arms trade, and then eventually complete disarmament on a global level. In the mean time, in families and in the various educational institutions we have to make every effort to carry internal disarmament.

Try to make clear what is the use of anger, and what is the use of hatred. Problems will always be there. It is wrong to expect a world without problems; that is unrealistic. Problems are bound to happen, but we must find a way to work on these problems without using violence. I often tell people, our 20th century is a century of violence; now we have to make the 21st century a century of dialogue."

Later, Dr. Elie Weisel then moved to the podium and began a powerful oratory in his trademark style. "Why are we here? We are here to fight death. We are here to celebrate those who want to live, who want to respect life. Those of you young people who have a future, we would like to celebrate your future. And so the time has come to introduce some ethical concerns in foreign policy matters. That is why we are here. For that is the primary goal of our endeavor."

Why the United States has in the past chosen to sell weapons to military dictators in Latin America is something I cannot understand. Was it then, is it now in the national interest of any great power to stake any risk of freedom in the third world? I believe that morality is in the national interest of any power that wants to be great.

Great powers are not great only because they are wealthy or because they have great armies, but because they have great principles, principles of morality, even if at times in Machiavellian motions they do things that don't always conform to those principles, but the principles must exists in most cases.

Why must we remind China, which could, because of its size, of its importance, and because of the metamorphosis it goes through, could actually afford giving back Tibet to the Tibetans? Why the obstinacy of dictators? Why the Burmese dictators are so obstinate, so stupid? Because dictators are stupid. Why do they keep a great woman, a hero of our time, Aung San Suu Kyi, in house arrest? Why do they do that, they can only lose. They always lose."

More speakers. But after the powerful words from The Dalai Lama and especially Weisel, things just kind of disintegrated into Charlie Brown teacher babble: Waw-wawk-waw-waw ... Things perked up momentarily, when all the speakers actually signed The International Code of Conduct on Arms Transfers, then quickly went back to more waw-wawk-waw as students representing Students for a Free Tibet took took their turns at the podium. Diana Takata, Director of Student's For Free Tibet, was the one who endured supper with a group of antsy walkers and invited us to this event. I owe her many thanks.

Then it was back to the walk.

As we left Manhattan to head to a boy's camp where we'd be staying, Dadon, Katie, Larry and I were in Larry's ancient BMW with questionable tires, loaded with laptops, cameras and other luggage on top of the spare, anxiously lost in Harlem, looking for the George Washington Bridge. About an hour later we were nearing our new home. The scent of pine and cedar was in the air, and dozens of eyes reflected in the dark wood speeding by. We'd gone from one jungle to the next.

We spent an idyllic week at Camp Shohola. Although we walked everyday, there was plenty of time for relaxation, and plenty of space for everyone to find some solitude. The Tibetans with us on the walk were having extended pujas just about every day. Most importantly, we all got to wash clothes and take showers.

But soon it was time to pack up. We were to have a presentation at Ardsley High School in Ardsley, N.Y., a 90210-ish burg that sat on the fringes of New York City. The parking lot was full of mom and dad's cast off Beemers and last year's Cherokees, and inside the kids were all attired in the latest Urban Outfitters duds. Flyers announcing our visit were plastered all over the school (The Tibetans Are Coming!), so when the lunch bell rang, the auditorium filled up impressively.

Tenzin Kelsang, a monk from South India, was the first to speak. He had heard Norbu on the Voice of America radio network at his monastery and immediately decided to come to America and join the walkers. He spoke of life as a monk and filled the audience in a little on the history of Tibet.

Then, Tenpa came on and spoke of his experience as a Chinese prisoner, a period during which he was shot in both legs because he was younger and deemed more likely to escape. The wounds were never attended to and Tenpa was made to work in a forced labor camp breaking rocks while his wounds festered and bled. Two years later, Tenpa still managed to escape into India with his pregnant wife and their two children. Now, more than thirty years later, Tenpa lives a good life in Canada, but still carries the scars of Chinese oppression.

At the end, during the question and answer session, there remained a sizable crowd of students who asked surprisingly informed and intelligent questions. If there was any doubt about the impact that young people can have in the Tibetan cause, it was greatly diminished. Afterward, we found that out of a student body of just over 400 students, over half had come to the presentation, making it the most successful voluntary convocation Ardsley High had ever held.

While the group of walkers headed off to a church in Dobb's Ferry, N.Y., Larry, Katie and I headed to NYC to prepare for the Tibetan Freedom Concert. As it turned out, there was little we could have done to prepare us for the weekend we were about to endure. We'd have our concepts of compassion, food, bathrooms and freedom challenged and reinterpreted. There were to be times of rage, times of wonder, there were to be times of befuddlement and there was to be little time for sleep.

First, we had to figure out where we would stay. A hotel was out of the question, so we started to make the rounds of friends and relatives we could possibly scam floor space off of. The easiest and most sure prospect was to stay with Larry's parents, but he'd had a recent dream where his car had been stolen from in front of his parent's building, and it was a likely thing that his car would get stolen there. So, we went to Brooklyn and promptly got lost in one of the most dangerous housing projects in the world. People were everywhere, dealing, grooving, staring and generally looking pissed at the world. It seemed to me like we were the only white people in a ten mile radius. And we were in a BMW. Bonfire of the Vanities popped into my head not a few times.

Katie and Larry were trying to find an address using a set of smokestacks for navigation. There were at least 15 sets of smokestacks in view. But before you know it, Katie got us there. "There it was, a Tibetan Buddhist center smack dab in the middle of Brooklyn. It was painted bright yellow in the drab of the city, it had prayer flags flying everywhere, it had jagged glass and razor wire around its perimeter.

Outside was a world of chaos, noise and distraction. Inside on the grounds of the center, it was peaceful, and didn't even smell like piss. A younger man who was a respected and revered high lama held sway over a little slice of Tibet in the midst of the big city, a slice with a beautiful temple, basketball court and two Mercedes and a Pathfinder that interacted, peacefully co-existed and nurtured it's surroundings. If you sat in the right place and looked north, the skyline of Manhattan with the Empire State Building right in the middle, stood in the distance like a majestic mountain range. But, the place was full of people and we couldn't sleep there as we'd hoped.

Ron Miner a Hoosier boy living in Jersey City finally answered our call that night, and we at least had a place to stay that evening. In no time at all we were chilling in a Jersey City apartment looking at the other side of the Manhattan skyline. We were awakened at seven the next morning by bulldozers fixing the street mere feet from our sleeping heads.

The next day we had a clear agenda: 1.) find a place to stay. 2.) Katie needed to stop at a B and H photo store and pick up supplies before the store closed at 1:00pm. 3.) Katie and I had to purchase tickets to the Tibetan Freedom Concert in order to obtain our press passes. 4.) Katie and I had to go pick up our press passes. 5.) Larry had to go to Kinkos and laminate some of the Panchen Lama passes to pass out at the concert. 6.) I had a meeting with a friend of mine at BMG in times square. 7.) we had to do all this and be at Randall's Island by 6:00 to meet a couple of people from a New Jersey group called the Peace-Weavers. Astonishingly, we did do all of that and more... a fruitless search for a square hole punch for the passes was added sometime during the day.

However, once we made it to Randall's Island, there were some issues were left unresolved. Katie still didn't have a photo pass for the concert, instead getting a run of the mill press pass like mine. Larry still didn't have a way in. The concert's principle organizer and its publicist had us on a wild goose chase running back and forth between them for the rest of the evening. Given the difficulty of getting a simple photo pass, Larry didn't even ask about his way in.

We did hook up with Jeanette, from the peace weavers and eventually, we made our way back to Brooklyn where we were staying with Larry's parents in Bensonhurst (he had finally overcome his fear of getting his car stolen and called them first thing that morning). But before going there, we stopped at the Vegas Diner for supper.

One thing about restaurants in New York City: the food is never bad. A menu is a 32- page deal listing every possible foodstuff known to man. When you order a meal you don't just get a meal, but also baskets full of bread and trays full of cheese and veggies. And when the meal finally comes there's enough food on your plate to feed a family of four.

Every single place we ate in New York, no matter if it was a Tibetan, Italian, Greek or a simple diner, our dinner table always looked like a decadent medieval feast. Case in point: at at the Vegas, I ordered a double cheeseburger platter. What I got was one platter full of freshly cut French fries and another platter with two of the biggest cheeseburgers I'd ever seen in my life. Overeater's paradise.

Helen and Mel Gerstein, Larry's parents, lived in a high rise sandwiched between Coney Island and Bensonhurst. From their balcony we could see the parachute drop and the Cyclone at Coney Island on one side and Verrazano-Narrows bridge to Staten Island on the other side. Every morning and evening we'd pass sites familiar because of John Travolta. We saw the sign that said "Welcome to Brooklyn, seventh largest city in America" and the high school that was featured in the opening shots of "Welcome Back Kotter."

We ate spumoni down the street from the disco that once was 2001 Odyssey, the night club featured in Saturday Night Fever, I strutted down the very same street that Travolta's Tony Manero strutted down in the opening scenes of that movie, and of course Saturday Night Fever's unsung star, the Verrazano-Narrows, couldn't be missed. Two songs burned their way into my brain the entire weekend: "Welcome Back" and "Staying Alive."

While at Mel and Helen's pad we got to see larry's most embarrassing pictures from his childhood and we got the standard Jewish mother run-down seconds after walking in the door: Are you hungry? I have some roast beef in here...thirsty? I can make some coffee? we have juice...how about some cake or ice cream? we have apples and oranges...a banana? (digging through purse) how about some Lifesavers? We quickly learned to simply ask her for a glass of water or something the minute we walked in. It was quiet and peaceful at the Gersteins' place, and we got to take the scenic route into Randall's Island for the concert everyday.

Randall's Island, where the rambling hulk of Downing Stadium was situated, sits in the middle of the East River between Harlem, the Bronx and Queens. On one side of it lies Riker's Island, famous for being one of the most formidable prisons in the world, and on the other side, the New York Psychiatric Hospital which contains some of the most ate-up loonies in the world, stands in plain view. As the day wore on we'd all encounter enough bad vibes to go check into the hospital ourselves.

The day started on a shitty note, literally. While I went inside to find Dadon, who was one of the speakers at that morning's Concert kick-off press conference, and get Larry a pass inside, Larry and Katie stood outside in front of a trailer to get Katie's photo pass.

Larry had a mantra running in his head: "Katie, Dadon, shit" He was worried that Katie wouldn't get her photo pass, and he was supposed to be assisting Dadon with press and interviews and such inside, which he thus far had no entry to. To top it all off, he had to poop really bad. So, Larry goes and finds a maintenance building just outside of the venue and squeezes in-between it and a fence, squats and drops a load right there, using a couple little napkins from a bagel shop to wipe. He narrowly escapes getting caught by a couple security guards, and by the time he got back, Katie was in business and I was walking out with Larry's pass in hand. Sweet relief, indeed.

Inside the press/VIP tent, A pack of rabid, trendy urban-outfitted press people were assembled before a table that included Adam Yaunch (MCA of the Beastie Boys), Sean Lennon, Q-Tip from Tribe Called Quest, Palden Gyatso, a monk who had been imprisoned by the Chinese for over 30 years, Ed O'Brien from Radiohead, former Public Enemy Chuck D and Diana Takata, the director of Students for a Free Tibet. For the most part, everyone had good, thoughtful things to say about the situation in Tibet, and Palden got to speak for a good long time, talking about his torture at the hands of the Chinese, and showing off their instruments of torture.

Then the madness known as the Tibet Freedom Concert started up.

Over the course of the day, many fine musical performances did incredible justice to the event. Jon Spencer and his Blues Explosion ripped though a ear-drum shredding set, Porno For Pyros festooned the stage with flowers and exotic (in every sense of the word) dancers, and Radiohead impressed the crowd with its brood-rock. It was easy to feel sorry for Oasis co-brother Noel Gallagher, whose solo set generated a good deal of indifference in the crowd. Patti Smith spent as much time cheering on her hometown hockey team and ripping on photographers as she did speaking about Tibet

When Bono and Co. first came on, the older people in the crowd started bugging and rushing the stage. The younger majority just kinda disinterestedly milled around or went to get lunch or pee. Half-way through their set when it was clear they weren't going to play any pre-Achtung Baby songs, most of the older fans started to do the disinterested shuffle.

When a band that's supposed to be THE concert attraction of the year can barely get half a crowd of 19,000 people hot and bothered, it's kind of sad. Especially given the insane response the Beasties, Rancid and even The Mighty Mighty Bosstones got out of the 27,000+ people at the next day's sold-out show. I for one would like to say that U2 sounded good but I can't. I was listening to an endless loop of "Staying Alive." Later that evening, we aimlessly drove all over Brooklyn, a dark gloom hanging over us. As good as the concert may have been, it was such a drain dealing with the organizing body, Milarepa, and their handling of the concert.

It was so hard to keep a positive outlook and sense of camaraderie with Milarepa when it was so hard to get anything from them. It was always like, well, yeah, you and Katie had taken time out and were walking for Tibet, covering the march and all, but, who were you working for? When the answer came back, well, no one, really, we were just really into what this march was all about and felt that concert fit into the bigger picture of what we were covering on the road, but we weren't really on assignment, per say, that was it. Minimum access.

In the end, we had Dadon on our side, and as she was one of the performers, Larry got an all-access artists pass, Katie had her photo pass (not that it did her any good) and I had my press pass (not that it was good for anything at all), and we all got to go into areas that Milarepa had tried so hard to keep us out. We had it good, comparatively, but when you're been walking with Tibetans for Tibet for weeks, and you see all these 18-year-old alterna-chicks who's faces are on bus benches, Mountain Dew commercials and Seventeen ads, with their point and snap disposable cameras and all-access passes, crowding the sides of the stage, and you can't get up there, well, it can get a bit harsh.

It was the other injustices that made the whole thing such a farce. Like the fact that the Tibetan performers and speakers were given maybe five to seven minutes to do their thing, and were completely ignored by MTV. Like the fact that no other Tibet support groups were allowed to pass out literature at the concert. Like the fact that the hundreds of Tibetan volunteers, young and old and alike, where treated like cattle and told to "wear their costumes" at the concerts as if they were characters at a Chuck E. Cheese's.

Like the fact that one prominent, model Tibet activist had to buy a ticket and beg to get a pass, and another one (who was a panelist at the press conference) couldn't get backstage because Milarepa "couldn't do anything for her" as far as passes went. Even though Larry had gone to San Francisco earlier this year and met with Milarepa and got a formal commitment that Milarepa would promote the walk and the June 14th UN demonstration at the end of the walk, they pretty much reneged. Whenever the June 14 demonstration at the UN was mentioned either from a stage or in literature passed out at the concert, the walk that led up to it was not mentioned, and it was worded in such a way so that it sounded like Milarepa was a principle organizer of the event. And no time was ever given for the demonstration.

Milarepa had also agreed to get MTV involved in bringing artists out to the walk and stuff, but once we got there MTV had no time for us and it wasn't even clear that they'd even heard of the walk. To top it off, there were the 50 dollar tickets that Milarepa told us we'd have to buy to get our passes and get us into the shows. We never had to show them once. Not to get our passes, not to get into the place, not once. Grrrrrr.

Thank god, the second day of the concert on Sunday was much better. Better performances by the artists, more people, warm sunny weather and a good night's sleep combined to make things a bit less gloomy. Eddie Vedder had called Adam Yauch that morning and practically begged to play the concert. And he did, coming on with band mate Mike McCleady about a half-hour before the concert officially started.

The duo ran through a few newer songs as the early crowd dealt with its shock and disbelief before pressing toward the front. By the time Vedder had launched into Neil Young's "Rocking In The Free World," the crowd was totally loving it, and Vedder even took the time to tell the people to sign the petitions and do whatever they could for Tibet.

Vedder also won the Mr. Congeniality prize, when later he went out into the crowd and gave out autographs, exchanging his for a fan's signature on a petition. Vedder, one of the biggest stars at the event, was also the only one of his stature to venture outside of the artist areas.

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones tore the place apart after Vedder and McCleady cleared the stage, while Pavement also turned in a good set of their greatest hits. Then it was time for Dadon, a Tibetan pop sensation who has sold over five million records in Tibet and China, and who escaped Tibet in 1992.

The message Dadon delivered to the assembled masses that afternoon was a powerful one. As swirling music started to build, Dadon started to speak. "You young Americans are so crazy and happy. I see all your smiling faces. I want to be crazy and happy like you, but I can't," she said. "I am very sad. I have seen my people be tortured and killed, and it is up to you to stop this. You are the ones who are going to help Tibet." Dadon's band then broke into the goose-bump inducing, techno funk romp of Dadon's "Gi Ma Gi (Happy Not Happy)." She had only seven minutes and there were a lot of people who'd immediately bolted at the mention of a Tibetan name. Yet Dadon had it great compared to some of the other Tibetan speakers and performers.

Part of the problem was that nobody in the audience knew the schedule and so to avoid missing somebody good, piss and food breaks were mostly taken during the five and seven minute Tibetan appearances. Also, when speakers were talking there were so many burly roadies milling around behind, beside and in front of them getting the stage ready for the next band, you couldn't even tell where the speaker was standing, unless you looked real hard - or you were a model backstage.

One week until the end, and everything goes to hell. It was kind of sad, but, the closer we got to the city, the harder it was to find housing. So we had to stay in a cluster of four homes in Paterson that belonged to Tibetans. We were all divided and separated, some of us were sick (Pema Dorjee, the only person to walk the entire way from Toronto, was knocked out by an abscessed tooth two days before the end).

It wasn't long before tension started to build and tempers began to flare since the majority of us were staying in cramped quarters in the middle of a Colombian barrio. The place I was staying was so cramped that I preferred to sleep in the RV, surrounded by the sound of drug dealing, death and mayhem.

On the last day, we gathered to begin the trek across the bridge from Fort Lee into Manhattan excited and anxious for the day to begin. We were to walk 12 miles from the Geo. Washington Bridge into Harlem, through Central Park and end at 47th and 1st Ave. The United Nations. Being a "captain" I was one of a group of people with the thankless and often fruitless job of keeping the walkers moving, and to the right. By the end of the day, I had stopped traffic in Manhattan, told taxis to turn and have then obey me and walked about twice the distance as everybody else moving up and down the line. The walkers were all yelling chants like "China Out Of Tibet, NOW!!!" and "Boycott Chinese Goods." I kept yelling, "Keep Moving People!" and "Stay Right!"

You can't come up with a more powerful way to see New York City in all its glory than to walk it. On street level, you get the tastes, smells and sights of the city changing and blending with the progression of each block. From the amused detachment of Harlem to the kamikaze hostility of the bikers and rollerbladers in Central Park, the city opened up its bosom and shared its treasures. The march was over 500 strong by the time we'd reached the end of the road.

At a small park across from the UN building, a demonstration was set to begin when we got there. All the original walkers got plaques honoring them for their efforts. Without hesitation, the speaking got under way. Norbu was the first to get up on the soapbox. Norbu is normally a good speaker, but in front of a large group of friends and supporters, he raised it up a notch or two and gave a fiery speech. "I'm standing here today, and we are all gathered together asking to stop the killing in Tibet. Just this morning I walked across the bridge and my friends informed me that recently, maybe two or three days ago, in Shigaste the Chinese arrested over 50 people. I don't know exactly the numbers but executed 10. This is very sad -- those people are lost. I think we should be silent for a minute please."

"This walk for me is like a picnic. Everyday I go out and go for a walk and joke and laugh and eat nice food, but my walkers who organized this and prepared for everyday, how many miles, where we were going to stop -- they worked day and night nonstop. I am thankful for them."Then at the end, "PO RANGZEN! I have been waiting for that for a long time. Please say it louder! PO RANGZEN!"

Following his speech, Thubten Jigme Norbu cut one of the four small stars out of the Chinese flag. He did this because the Chinese Flag contains 5 stars; one big one, which represents the Han majority, and four smaller stars which represent the countries "liberated" by the Han people, Tibet, Southern Mongolia, Eastern Turkistan and Manchuria. One thing the walk had taught those working the front lines was the questions that never got asked, except to the walkers. Like crossing the U.S. - Canada border on foot. "You're What?" Or asking the FBI if it is legal to cut a Chinese flag. "You're going to do what?" Cutting the flag was a gray area for a longest time, but it was finally declared to be perfectly within our rights to cut a Chinese Flag. And so, at the end, they did.

While other speeches continued to ramble and volunteers started to set up food and drinks, the four representatives of Tibet, Southern Mongolia, Eastern Turkistan and Taiwan delivered the cut out stars and the rightful flags of their countries to the headquarters of the president of the United Nations General Assembly. Of course the doors were locked and the gate was chained shut, so the flags were neatly folded, the stars lain on top, and were slipped between the gate and the front door.

Next, the representatives drove to the PRC Mission to tell them that if they want to fly a PRC flag that they should fly the flag without the smaller stars. Of course, once again, the doors were locked, but there were definitely people inside choosing to ignore the ringing doorbell. Anwar Yusuf held the flag in front of the video camera outside the door and explained, "Here is your flag. You may notice that we've made some adjustments to it." Finally it was decided that the flag would be left hanging from the outside door handle. After doing so, the representatives got into their car, drove around the block once and the flag was gone.

All the talking done, all the walking done, Norbu was in a ring of Tibetans dancing and singing in the Manhattan twilight. To the rest of the walkers the question was just beginning to rear its ugly head: Now What?

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