My Grandmother Travels With Me

The morning air outside Potala Palace was cold and dry.

Prayer flags moved gently in the wind while pilgrims circled the palace grounds in quiet devotion.

As our group waited for our entry time, an elderly Tibetan woman approached me carrying handmade ornaments draped carefully over her arms. She could not speak English, but with her hands and her warm smile, she showed me each piece one by one.

I still remember her face so clearly.

The deep lines etched softly across her forehead.

Her peaceful eyes.

Her perfectly round face illuminated by a gentle toothless smile.

The quiet dignity she carried.

And in that moment, unexpectedly, I saw my grandmother.

I grew up sleeping beside my grandmother as a child, sharing a small wooden bed with her night after night. I remember the warmth of her body beside me and the stories she would tell before we fell asleep.

She told me about hardship.

About survival.

About leaving China and beginning again in Vietnam.

About how she sold small knickknacks and handmade items to make a living.

Standing there outside Potala Palace, looking at the Tibetan woman holding those colorful ornaments in her weathered hands, something inside me softened.

For a brief moment, she was my grandmother.

I did not have enough small cash with me at the time, but Susan P, one of the Travel Lovers, kindly offered to lend me some money so I could buy one of the ornaments. Several others from our group began purchasing pieces as well, and I still remember the joy on her face as each ornament slowly left her hands.

The piece I chose was the most beautiful one she carried — braided colorful cords, carved beads at the center, soft tassels hanging beneath carved beads and braided cords.

I attached it to my travel backpack shortly after the trip.

And somehow, it never left.

For nearly seven years now, that ornament has traveled with me across countries, airports, mountains, cities, deserts, and temples around the world. Despite the years — and many new backpacks — it still looks almost new, as though time itself has handled it gently.

But what I carry is no longer simply an ornament.

It is memory.

It is love.

Over time, the ornament began to feel like a small piece of my grandmother traveling beside me.

My grandmother never had the opportunity to see the world before she passed away. And somewhere along the way, this small Tibetan ornament quietly became a way for her to travel with me — to see the world through my eyes.

Sometimes travel awakens emotions we never expected to encounter.

A landscape.

A stranger’s face.

A familiar gesture.

A fleeting moment that suddenly opens a hidden door to the past.

And in those moments, we realize we are never truly traveling alone.

There are people we continue carrying long after they are gone.

Every time I reach for my backpack and see that ornament still hanging there, I think of both women:

the Tibetan grandmother standing outside Potala Palace,

and my own grandmother who once held me close as a child.

And each time, I am reminded how fortunate I am to see the world at all.

For that, I remain deeply grateful.

The Tibetan grandmother who sold me the ornament I still carry today.

A small Tibetan ornament that has quietly traveled the world with me for nearly seven years.