Into Lhasa
The awe-inspiring flight KTM to LXA crosses the Himalayas, banking right around Everest, before entering the Tibetan plateau. The plane flies not so far above the mountain tops, but it is probably at 30- or 35,000 feet. After catching sight of the city of Lhasa, the plane passes along a deep valley, makes a 180 degree turn, and then heads for the runway. With 20,000 foot peaks all around, it is quite an accomplishment just to get on the ground.
The air is thin (Lhasa is at about 12,000 feet) and clear – cold in the shade, warm in the sun. It is autumn, and recently-planted poplar trees are turning yellow. They turn from bottom to top, so some trees are all yellow, with green tips.
The Lhasa airport is new and clean, and we were out into the parking lot with a minimum of fuss. Similarly, the road from the airport into town is new, well-marked. Coming into the city it almost looks like pictures of a modern city in China, if you ignore the mountains and the yaks and the horses and the signs in Chinese and Tibetan. But when we passed by the Potala that it was clear. This is the ancient, holy, Tibetan city.
The sun hits Lhasa around 8:30 in the morning, and that's when the city begins to come to life. In the Barkhor, pilgrims, shopkeepers, schoolchildren, and all manner of craftspeople go about their day. Right around the Jokhang, most of the business is cheap jewelry and the stuff of offerings – malas, flags, butter, incense, etc. There are also stalls selling traditional Tibetan dress, hats, boots. On the quieter lanes, noodle shops, bakeries (just a few women in a tiny shop making tsampa and other breads), tailors, furniture makers, and small groceries are more prevalent.
The Jokhang was built in the 7th century by King Songtsen Gampo, originally to keep an image of Akshobhya, brought as part of Nepali Princess Bhrikuti's dowry. It later came to house a statue of Jowo Sakyamuni, which is now its main event.
At the entrance, dozens off pilgrims lay out mats and do prostrations all day. Some bring a picnic lunch. Ladies fill thermoses with melted yak butter and rent them to pilgrims for making offerings at butter lamps in the many Jokhang chapels. I bought one for 15 yuan after a funny exchange between me and the lady. She was concerned that I understand I was to return the thermos to her when finished, and showed me the painted markings on the side that coded the thermos as hers – two vertical yellow lines. Past the pilgrims, two huge prayer wheels, and the entrance door, I paid a friendly monk to get into the temple. He asked me how much I paid for the butter, and I was pleased to hear from him that I paid the going rate. Tourist rate is 30. Huge lines of pilgrims were waiting to make offerings at upwards of 50 chapels. Officials and monks keep the line moving. They usher tourists past the lines, and several times tried to show me out of the line, so I could make a quick circuit and be done.
Instead, I stayed in line with the pilgrims, whispering aspirations and making offerings for my friends, for my sangha, the Tibetans, and all sentient beings, at the chapels to Avalokiteshvara, the protectors, Sakyamuni buddha, and others... I offered my last of my butter at the feet of the Tibetan king Songtsen Gampo, in thanks for the Tibetans' example. The devotion is so palpable, emotions high. The man in front of me in line was probably my age, wearing jeans and an orange windbreaker, modern hair style. Yet when he put his forehead to the stairs of the Shakyamuni Buddha throne, there were tears in his eyes and the big monk on duty had to usher him along.
In the foyer of the Sakyamuni buddha chapel, many people perform prostrations. I sent up my own devotion to that of all sentient beings and offered my own three. Pilgrims from the rural parts of Tibet are apparent in their dress and carriage. The men, with braids wrapped over their heads, women with babies on their backs and prayer wheels swinging.
There are a few columns of the Jokhang that are from the original 7th Century building. They are beautifully carved at the top (by Newari carvers brought from Nepal at that time), but rubbed almost smooth at hand-height from thousands of butter-infused fingers. Many parts of the Jokhang have been re-done, and two of the upstairs chapels are currently being re-painted. Monks work from ladders, painting red, gold, green, orange, blue images of the buddha in his many incarnations.
Back on the street, I wind my way out of the Barkhor, past several yak meat stalls. A yak head is propped against one stall, still dripping slightly.
