My travel diaries
Wednesday 25 April, 2007 - Lhasa, Tibet
The day begins at 8.30 with a conversation about the population of China over breakfast. Mark, who seems to be a mine of obscure information, says that 1 in 11 of the world's population lives on the banks of the Yangtse. Not to be outdone, I chip in by saying a quarter of the world's population is Chinese. I remember reading somewhere that the population of China is 1.5 billion, while the world's population is estimated at 6 billion. An argument breaks out and, when questioned more closely, I'm forced to admit this statistic might be rubbish.
In the end, Tim helps me out. "In fact, there are 5000 more people in China since we started this conversation."
It's time for us to leave for our first monastery visit of the expedition. On the way downstairs to reception Mark casually remarks I should put on a red robe and try to get into the monastery for free.
"You're a fine one to talk," I reply. "You haven't exactly got the fullest head of hair yourself."
"Ah, but I haven't got your angelic temperament," he replies. I give the lie to this observation with a terse, two word response. The monk analogy seems to be following me around, though. Before I left work some of my former colleagues suggested a monastic profession when I told them I was leaving to go to Tibet. I haven't told any of these people that I live on my own in a converted monastery in south London, which would be certain to fuel further speculation.
We jump in our Landcruisers to visit the Drepung Monastery, high on a hill overlooking Lhasa. I use the word overlooking loosely, for we can't actually see much. When we set off it's raining. Halfway through the drive Mark remarks that the rain only seems very light now. It immediately starts to hail, and then snow. Shortly afterwards he mentions that the drivers in Lhasa are so much more relaxed than the ones in Kathmandu. A split second later our driver, who I don't think speaks any English, starts beeping his horn frantically, gesturing aggressively and trying to get past the bus in front. I politely ask Mark to refrain from making any predictions about the weather once we reach Everest Base Camp.
By the time we reach the monastery it's snowing heavily and really quite cold. To begin with I find the tour fairly unmemorable. Having probably visited over 30 Buddhist monasteries in my travels, this one has little to distinguish it from others: statues of the Buddha, butter lamps, paintings of scenes from the Buddha's life, and photographs of various prominent monks (or tulkus , incarnations of previous buddhas, as they are known in Buddhism). One difference with Tibetan monasteries, though, is that the Chinese authorities do not allow photographs of the most prominent tulku of all, the Dalai Lama. My interest is kindled when we reach the main assembly hall. Here there are literally hundreds of red-robed monks sitting on cushions among the many pillars of a high-ceilinged chamber. They are all chanting, and continue undisturbed as we circle around them taking photographs.
When I get outside I find I've lost the rest of my group, except for Tim. It's no longer snowing and we now have clear views from our elevated position in the mountains overlooking Lhasa. We wander back to the car park through a maze of passageways sprawling down the side of a hill. The place is more like a village with narrow alleyways than a single monastery. There is even a monks' college. On the way Tim has an encounter with an over-amorous sheep which I manage to catch on camera. While we wait for the others back in the car park, he's approached by two young monks wanting to practise their English. He struggles with them, and keeps looking to me to help out, but I'm content to let him be. The monks keep giggling, and I realise Tim has one of those genial faces, with short grey beard, big red nose and a glint in his eyes, which make people want to laugh at him even though he hasn't said anything funny. This is why people keep approaching him: he looks like a friendly chap (and is).
When the others turn up, they accuse me of sneaking off to try and join the monastery.
By the afternoon the weather has changed completely. Instead of the cold and the snow, it's now warm and sunny. We have lunch in a restaurant overlooking Barkhor Square on the edge of the Barkhor, the ancient Tibetan centre of Lhasa, a network of narrow streets and markets. Afterwards we separate to go off and explore the city on our own. I head back to the hotel for some more sleep, but find it particularly busy skirting one side of the Jokhang, the revered Buddhist temple in the heart of the old town. It's only halfway round that I realise I'm going "against the flow". The circuit of the Jokhang is actually one of Lhasa's three sacred koras , or pilgrimage circuits. Virtually everyone else is going round the Jokhang clockwise, while I'm one of only a handful of people going anti-clockwise. I hurry on and make a note to ensure I don't make the same mistake next time I'm in the Barkhor area.
Later that evening, when returning to the hotel after dinner at a restaurant in town, we pass a butcher's meat wagon being unloaded. It must be piled high with well over 200 animal carcasses. I've never seen so many in one place. Tibetans are standing on top of the carcass pile and throwing the carcasses down onto a big sheet of tarpaulin on the ground. Mark steps up to take a subtle photo from a distance, but then Chris arrives and shoves his camera right under their noses. For some reason they love it, and start clapping him on the back saying, "thank you, thank you," in English as he shows them the image in the LCD screen on the back of his camera. I turn round and hurry on before he asks to climb up onto the carcasses and have his photo taken up there.
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