Travel diaries

My travel diaries

In the footsteps of Mallory

In the footsteps of Mallory

An expedition to the North Col of Everest. April/May 2007.

Thursday 26 April, 2007 - Lhasa, Tibet

Approaching the Potala on a sleety morning in LhasaA visit to the Potala Palace. I've seen it many times in photographs, but nothing prepares me for quite how big it is. It's simply awe-inspiring. Built in the 17 th century by the Fifth Dalai Lama, its 11 stories and 1000 rooms sprawl top to bottom and end to end across Marpo Ri, a prominent 130m high hill overlooking the city. Its red and white trapezoidal structures are instantly recognisable, and set against the snow-capped mountains of central Tibet it has to be one of the most dramatically picturesque buildings in the world. Thankfully it is one of a minority of historic buildings in Tibet which survived the excesses of the 1960s Cultural Revolution, when the Jokhang was trashed by schoolchildren at the instigation of Communist Party leaders. It is rumoured the Potala was only spared because the Chinese prime minister Zhou Enlai realised its significance and deployed troops to protect it while the worst of the vandalism was taking place.

Once again it's cold and snowing, but if yesterday was anything to go by we're hopeful for better weather in the afternoon, even though it doesn't look remotely like it might clear.

I pass my bag through the airport-style scanner, and walk up the hill to the Red Palace at the very top. Although I've been to many Buddhist monasteries, the Potala is quite unlike anything I've ever seen before. The Dalai Lama's audience chambers, a sequence of half a dozen interlinked rooms, are small and cosy rather than big and grand. They're stuffed with paintings and figures of Buddhas, and they're warm.

The majority of the palace is closed to the public, but across the courtyard on the roof is a second, larger, public area. Again, there are small and cosy chambers, but these ones encircle larger halls with high ceilings and tall pillars. The smell of incense is thick, and every chamber is crammed with statues, paintings and rolls of scripture. I make my way slowly round, passing up and down step ladders exposed to the outdoors and slippery with melted snow, following lines of tourists who are herded around in procession by the Chinese authorities. Photography is banned inside the palace and we are given exactly one hour to follow the circuit, but otherwise we are left alone. There is great wealth on display, particularly the tombs of previous Dalai Lamas, which are represented by golden stupas encrusted with precious stones. The tomb of the Fifth Dalai Lama alone is 12.6m tall and contains 3721kg of gold. I'm intrigued to read the pearl that forms its centrepiece was plucked from the brains of an elephant. Apparently this is considered something of a rarity, according to the caption. Presumably this means it isn't unique, however, and I wonder whether it is common practice in Tibet to routinely scan the brains of dead elephants on the off chance of finding a pearl.

Tibetan carpet weaver in a factory at the foot of the PotalaEventually I emerge outside, where it's still snowing, and follow a steep pathway down to the bottom of the hill. Ian is buying a Tibetan carpet in a large souvenir shop at the foot of the Potala. The price starts at something outrageous, but he haggles it down to $1100. We are taken downstairs to a room where the carpets are being woven by hand. There are pots of dye made from natural ingredients, and yak turds are piled high ready to be used as fuel for the ovens where the dyes are made.

The Potala Palace seen across a lake in Potala SquareAs predicted, and still quite remarkably in my view, the skies clear later in the afternoon and it becomes a beautiful day again. I return to the Potala with my sun cream and camera to take some photographs of the outside of the building.

In the evening we go to a Tibetan restaurant called the New Lhasa off Barkhor Square. It's Bunter's birthday, and Mic has bought him a large plastic kettle to use as a pee bottle in his tent on Everest. A marker pen is produced and we all scribble messages on it, such as, "happy pissing", "enter here" (with arrow), and "more tea, anyone?" Mic, the Australian, has to write his message on the underside: "if you read this then you've just spilt piss all over yourself".

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