Feelin’ the Altitude
When we woke up on our first full day in Tibet, Cath and I both had red swollen eyeballs – not puffy eyelids like after a crying jag, but literally swollen eyballs. I was actually afraid that my eyes might explode. We also had killer headaches, the kind I used to get after university kegger parties only without the fleeting fun of getting drunk. These were altitude headaches. Before this trip, I assumed altitude sickness was an ailment contrived by whiny baby travelers who didn’t have my level of energy and fortitude. But we did everything right: drank lots of water, didn’t exert ourselves too much, went to bed early, and still we both felt like the walking dead.
Our room’s “mini-bar” featured a funny collection of items. Although tempted, we didn’t use the oxygen.
That’s dried yak meat, barley porridge, Budweiser, altitude sickness pills, cans of oxygen, and … hmmm … I can’t remember what’s in those red cans.
Potala Palace
Chum Zhun and our local driver, Feng Shifu, picked us up for the short ride to Potala Palace. The government strictly controls how many visitors traipse through the palace and how long they spend there. Unfortunately, we had just one hour to explore the sprawling icon of Lhasa.
As we were entering the palace, we heard a melodic chanting. Chum Zhun pointed to a big group of Tibetans working on part of the palace roof. She explained that they were singing a common “labor song.”
We walked slowly up stairs for 117 meters (383 feet) to the top of he palace, which sits at 3,775 meters (12,385 feet) above sea level. Our tour took us through many small chapels with shrines to Buddha and various other historical and mythical figures. We noticed many Tibetans were carrying thermal bottles and plastic bags, which we assumed were drinks and snacks. Then we realized they were pouring their “drink” and spooning their “snack” into the big copper pots in front of the holy statues. Chum Zhun explained that the pilgrims were making spiritual offerings of yak butter (or more often than not, artificial yak butter – a cheaper alternative).
Elementary school children skittered past us, tossing single jiao notes (about a penny and a half) to many of the shrines. Again, we turned to Chum Zhun for an explanation. Turns out the middle school entrance exam was the next day, and Tibetan children never spend the day before an exam studying. “If you don’t know the information by now, it’s too late,” she said. Instead, students take their best test-taking pen around to the temples to pray for blessings.
Inside the palace, we saw the flashy stupas of several dalai lamas (Buddhist spiritual leaders). The fifth dalai lama, who died in 1682, was the most influential for his success in unifying Tibet and balancing religion and politics. Many pilgrims leave yak butter and money at his jewel-encrusted golden tomb. I also loved the “victory banners,” long cylindrical banners made with a patchwork of colorful silk fabrics. They represent the Buddhist quest for victory over ignorance. (I think all teachers need a victory banner in their classrooms …)
Unfortunately, we couldn’t take photos inside the temple.
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During a restroom break, Cath and I had a big chuckle over the “toilet” that was really just a hole in the ground with nothing but air and hillside underneath. I hope the kings and dalai lamas who lived here had nicer palace potties than this one …
From the top of the palace, we looked down at the Liberation Monument, which commemorates the 50th anniversary of China’s “peaceful liberation” of Tibet in 1951. It stands as a solemn reminder that this region remains shackled to the Chinese communist regime, which – despite its efforts to fight poverty, build schools and modernize infrastructure – continues to obstruct religious practice, destroy temples and other Buddhist symbols, discourage the use of the Tibetan language, and otherwise chip away at the area’s rich culture. (I’m really trying hard not to get too political on this blog, mostly because I don’t want it blocked in China. But it’s not easy.)
Jokhang Temple
After lunch at a Chinese restaurant (during which poor Cath experienced another wave of altitude sickness), we returned to Jokhang Temple. King Songtsen Gampo built the temple around 647 to house his Chinese wife’s sacred dowry – a golden statue of Buddha. The statue is about 2,500 years old, but it looks brand new thanks to the gold paint brushed on by rich patrons. The temple’s courtyard was slick with yak butter, and every nook and cranny of the interior featured colorful ornamentation. Again, we couldn’t shoot pics inside. Doh!
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After visiting the temple, we decided to join the pilgrims in the Barkhor – the sacred clockwise circuit. Bustling with pilgrims at dawn and dusk, the Barkhor was relatively quiet in the heat of the afternoon. We meandered along the route, pausing to check out all the shops, market stalls and hawkers selling everything from prayer flags to shoe insoles. We soon identified many of the same products for sale in Shanghai markets, and we stumbled upon people making Tibetan “antiques.” Chum Zhun said the influx of Chinese entrepreneurs in recent years has seen a shift in the market from traditional Tibetan goods to cheap mass-produced souvenirs. Sad.
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Nighttime Nuttiness at the Palace
Chum Zhun mentioned that the Potala Palace was beautiful at night, so Cath and I decided to see for ourselves. Despite our altitude-induced weariness, we walked about 20 minutes to the plaza with the Liberation Monument. Strauss’ “The Blue Danube” was blaring from a speaker while a synchronized subterranean fountain blasted massive streams of water up into the air. The dancing water performed to a shrieky Chinese song and then a cowboy tune (complete with galloping hoof sounds) and then the loop began again with Strauss. Bizarre.
As we waited for the sun to set, Cath demonstrated her brilliant waltzing skills honed in Austria, and we twirled around the plaza to “The Blue Danube.” A Chinese man asked us to dance again so he could film it, but we pointed out that the waltz had ended. “The music is in my heart,” he said. Ha!
Eventually, darkness fell and the palace lit up. The silliness of the fountain and the eclectic music loop detracted a bit from the palace’s spiritual power, but we appreciated it nonetheless.
We caught a bicycle tuk-tuk back to our hotel, where everyone on the street was throwing water at each other to cool off. They howled with laughter and pretended they didn’t want to get wet. We smiled at them and quickly ducked in to our hotel, mostly dry.
For more details about Potala Palace and Jokhang Temple, check out the website Sacred Destinations.
