Day 46 – November 2 – Lhasa

I awoke to eyes frozen shut. No, actually, they weren’t but they were damn close. I was freezing. It was awful. The room had no heat and was on an interior courtyard-like open space, so the cold outside air seeped into the room incessantly. I barely made it out of bed and up to the included breakfast. Note to self, bad breakfast. There was a warm soup that was more like dirty water with some strange vegetables in it that were not very appetizing. There was also a hard boiled egg, which I ate, some very doughy bread and dumplings. I ate about half the meal by the time I saw Emma and Lee walking toward me. They took a gander at my meal, maybe a bit apprehensively, and then made themselves a plate. We walked down to the lobby together to meet Cimba who would be taking us to the Jokhang Temple this morning. After about 30 minutes, he arrived to find us slightly perturbed. He just told us to file into the van and we would go start the days visits.

Jokhang Temple is the single most sacred site in Tibetan Buddhism. It was built in the 7th Century C.E. by King Songtsan Gampo and his two wives, one from Nepal and one from China, brought famous statues of Buddha as wedding gifts. It has been the center of pilgrimage to Lhasa for centuries, ever since a famous teacher named Master Atisha taught there in the 11th Century. It sits in the middle of the Barkhor Square, the main public space in the historic section of Lhasa, not nearly as intimidating or daunting as the Potala Palace just a short distance away. The area around the temple is punctuated by four large incense burners spewing copious amounts of thick smoke and ash into the air turning the scene into a surreal masterpiece, almost as if it were being painted before one’s eyes by a Renaissance sfumato master. The strong odor of the incense was not just the typical tobacco-like acrid smoke smell I have become accustomed to in the East, but an additional heavy butter smell permeated the smoke. It was strange to say the least. I don’t think I’ve actually smelled butter before.

Cimba walked us to the front of the temple. The mass of people was incredible. Cimba told us that all of these people were Tibetan pilgrims from areas outside Lhasa who complete an annual pilgrimage to the city and to Jokhang in particular. Many pilgrims were covered in dirt and donned facemasks while others sported Indian Jones-type hats. Older women typically carried prayer wheels, small drums with prayers written on them attached to wooden handles that can be rotated in circles, making a whirring sound as they passed. Some had been traveling for days or weeks to visit this site, especially on this day. Cimba explained to us how once a month Buddhists celebrate the ‘birthday’ of Buddha. I don’t think he had the right translation on that, but it definitely was a festival of some importance as there were scores more people than the previous day. Worshippers walked around the site once, clockwise, and then stood in line up to two hours to enter. They threw barley or butter or other offerings into the incense burners as they passed, resulting in tongues of fire sporadically leaping out of furnaces. Some pilgrims worshipped while accepting alms, throwing themselves prostrate on the ground in a maneuver I like to refer to as Tibetan calisthenics. They wore wooden blocks on their hands and knees, sometimes on their foreheads, as well. From a standing position one would clap the blocked hands three times: above the head, in front of the face, and at the heart. Then, he or she would crouch down, place the hands on the ground, and launch forward so that the body was completely prostrate against the ground with his or hands swept forward in long arcs. At the point of full extension, one taps the ground with the blocked hands and rises to the starting position. Apparently, some pilgrims do this all the way from their homes to Lhasa, taking up to six months. Seriously, what am I doing complaining about lack of public transport in Los Angeles, they haven’t even figured out walking in some parts of the world?

As we stood there watching the scene in front of us, the people started to gawk and smile at us. Back in China and Japan, no one really paid me any heed. Here, it was different. I’m not sure if that is due to the drop in tourism post China’s decision to crack down on Western visitors or a general lack of tourists in general. Children pointed and stared, it was really fun, until some Chinese soldiers interrupted the peaceful setting. There were two of them, and they started harassing one of the worshippers who was engaging in Tibetan calisthenics and seeking alms. They pushed him around, grabbed him and violently flung him into a crowd of people. Two soldiers continually pushed him around until he was on the ground, curled into the fetal position. The pilgrims in the crowd around the beaten man looked upset by the pushing and the ruckus, but not surprised by the harassment of a Tibetan. I asked Cimba what was going on, and he just shook his head, saying that this was “normal.” The man eventually was forced from Barkhor Square and from our vantage point.



After circling the Temple from the outside, always walking clockwise, we walked into the Temple. There was a separate line for tourists, so we didn’t have to wait for hours along with the pilgrims. The interior courtyard contains some amazing paintings showing great teachers through the ages with most incredibly bright and clear. Inside, a heavy scent, both dense and spicy, hung in the air like a blanket. There were candles everywhere, and one quickly realized that one of the methods of donation by pilgrims to the Temple was a gift of butter poured around the candles. This butter acted as wax to fuel the candles. This was one of the most powerful and distinct odors in the room. The interior of the structure was dominated by a series of large statues of Buddha wrapped in prayer flags or golden and silk robes and flanked by dark, heavy pieces of fabric, some with incredibly ornate patterns, stretching the height of the Temple from the ceiling to the ground. The statues were surrounded by a seating area for monks and a banister to keep tourists out of the most sacred areas. Pilgrims walked around this central space in a clockwise movement, ducking into any number of several small chapels dedicated to different teachers, monks or holy figures located on the perimeter. Most of the small chapels included statues and icons of various colors and sizes behind glass viewing panes where pilgrims would squeeze small denomination bills as alms. Handfuls of crumpled, dirty bills in tiny denominations poured from every crack and corner of the chapels. Money stuck to the ground, pasted to the floor by the butter which seemed to coat every square inch of the Temple. I walked through and marveled at the pilgrims who appeared as poor as any people I have seen in my life as they gingerly placed their monthly or yearly alms at the foot of their most revered statues. Looking up at the ceiling, shafts of light pierced the darkness of Temple in places, highlighting the monks’ sitting area and a large bronze statue of the Buddha. It was surreal.

We walked out of the Temple and had the opportunity to climb up to the roof. The view was quite stunning. The cold, clear air was a welcome respite from the buttery tinged atmosphere inside the Temple, and the few wisps of clouds allowed one to view the surrounding mountains and Potala Palace with the utmost clarity. At the top of the Temple, looking out to Barkhor Square below, is a famous piece of art consisting of two golden deer flanking a Dharma wheel. There were about 7 or 8 other tourists up on the roof, walking around and checking out the details of the beautiful carvings and sculptures decorating the area. The colors, red, blue, yellow, green and orange, were vibrant and created a severe difference to the hard brown mountains in the background. We spoke with some monks who were walking around up there, seemingly making their morning stroll in a more calm and quiet area away from the pilgrims. I asked if I could take a photo with one, and he acquiesced with a smile. I also bought a small souvenir at the tiny table of goods on the roof which was manned by two monks. I bought prayer beads, a series of dime sized wooden, wrinkly beads making a bracelet. I asked one of the monks to bless it, which he did. I just wanted to have a unique souvenir from this place that would have significance to me, and that is what this represents. I’m sure I could buy similar beads anywhere, but the fact that the money went directly to the monks and was purchased in a place like this makes them special to me.

It was about 1pm at this point, so Cimba led us to a small rooftop restaurant at the other end of Barkhor Square to meet the other three members of our group who had just arrived. This is where we met James and Tony, two middle-aged British chaps who were beginning a several month travel vacation, and Andre, a 25-year old Lithuanian guy on a two-week vacation. Tony was actually over at another table, apparently speaking with another group of tourists who he thought would be his new travel mates. But, no, we were the new guys he would have to deal with over the next week. Lucky him. As chill and relaxed as Emma and Lee are, Tony and James are quite the opposite: high strung and whiny. But, I should give them a chance. Andre is just silent. I mean, truly, silent. It took me forty minutes to figure out his name and where he was from since he just went off by himself to take photos and would not acknowledge any of us. Oh well. After a light lunch of some noodles, I was not very hungry, we sped off to see one of the monasteries where monks debate.

We arrived at the Sera Monastery, which sits at the base of imposing brown mountains, and immediately headed to a large courtyard where a group of about 75 to 100 monks were debating. The debates have become a significant tourist draw at the monastery. One monk stands among a group of 2 to 10 seated monks, discussing Buddhist theory. When he makes a particularly important point, or, alternatively, asks a question of those seated around him, he claps his hands and snaps a string of beads at them. They then respond to the point or answer the question. I really enjoyed this tableau before me. To me, the term ‘monk’ conjures images of quiet reflection and silent prayer, not loud, emotional discussions on the most important aspects of one’s religious traditions. I was highly entertained and moved by this scene. I love the idea that belief is a dialogue here, rather than a script to be memorized and regurgitated. Now, since I could not understand the ongoing Tibetan dialogue, I had to rely on the translations from Cimba, so some of this appreciation could be rooted in false assumptions, but I hope not. I really enjoyed my time here. We also walked through the interior of the adjoining temples, which were beautiful, filled with statues and tapestries.



Afterwards, the group split up, with Emma, Lee and I walking around the old city center looking for a jacket for Emma. Cimba has been wearing a heavy black coat with a traditional Tibetan pattern lining it. He said it was from Shigatse, the second city of Tibet, and is only worn by Tibetans. We searched for a couple hours before we found one, but it was quite expensive for $35. In Tibet, that is a lot of money. It also would be coming from a Chinese store, where we did not want to spend our money. We tried to negotiate, but that didn’t work out so well, so we decided to ask Cimba to help us drive down the price tomorrow. After, we returned to the hostel. There is a restaurant on the top floor where we sat to have beer and food. We just wanted to relax at this point. The sun was setting over the Potala in the distance, framing the red and white building in red, yellow, blue and purple. This is a very unique vista, with multi-colored prayer flags fluttering in the wind and a whole city embraced by rolling brown mountains on every side. This single largest structure of the Potala Palace is more impressive in its native setting than the Empire State Building in New York. I took my beer and my camera and climbed up a fire escape to the roof of the hostel, sitting in the freezing temperature and watching the sky grow from gold to red to blue. It was perfect, and I could not ask for anything more at this point. Life is damn good.