Spent Friday afternoon at Potala Palace on the hilltop overlooking Lhasa. The hoops we had to jump through just to see it where all mandated by the government and we had a timed ticket that was supposed to gain us access at 1. Well by the time we were put through a very lame security check (I could have smuggled a goat in my sweater and they would have looked the other way) and climbed a heck of a lot of steps (god, am I out of shape or what as these little old ladies are passing me), the man taking our tickets berates Cait for being 10 minutes late.
The palace was not too impressive after seeing other monasteries all week. Since we were without a tour guide, (Dundup couldn't come because they charge too much money for him to be with us) we were on our own, trying to not get shoved by all these Chinese people as we read the English signs. (I know Dave has touched on this in his blog -- but do they get any help with the proper translation). The Chinese I have found have no boundaries on space issues and as mildly claustrophobic, OCD-ish U.S. woman I have major issues with how much I get an elbow to the back.
In the palace, there was the Jamkang -- a chapel dedicated to the Maitreya -- and a sign near the idol saying "may peace prevail." I just had to keep repeating that mantra as I get run over by these tour groups.
Another chapel -- the Lolang Kary -- showed murals dating back to the 7th century. And there were these large minature replicas of monasteries, palaces, etc. (almost like dioramas) that the original Dali Lamas proposed by created -- all cast in bronze... I wonder how much that went for a gram back in the day.
I've seen the swastika symbol throughout all these monasteries and come to find out it supposed to mean good luck in Chinese. But I have a hard time imaging that it can be used as a symbol of good.
In another chapel, there is a large tomb where the body of one of the Dali Lamas lies. (I've lost track of how many there are and would like to learn a little more when I get back home as our guide's English can be hard to understand sometimes. He says, "Yes" to everything when he may mean no, and it sometimes takes the three of us asking the same question in the simplest and most basic ways.)
But on this tomb made all of gold (again what would that bring in if it was all melted down) there is a creature that looks like a dragon, dog and human or as Cait points out "the one with breasts."
We continue wondering through the palace and it looks like the weather is going to clear. As I am paying more attention as to not trip over all these thresholds, my sweater gets caught on this intricately ornate door handle and I temporarily hung up on the door, calling to Cait and Gram that I'm stuck. I don't think the Tibetans would appreciate a permanent white resident shacking up for free.
Lunch is at a Chinese hotel and neither Gram or I are hungry -- but the human garbage disposal, Cait, (and I say this with affection as that girl is skinny and must have a hole in her leg) manages to put away a lot of food.
Our next stop for the afternoon is... drum roll please.... another monastery. This one is the Sera monastery, built in 1416 (must have been a popular time period) with originally 5500 monks, now down to 600.
This is a smaller one (and we still have to pay a road toll "fee" to get to the gates) and ends up the afternoon surprisingly well. In the afternoons, the monks debate in the courtyard their book of translations. And do they debate. They ask questions of each other, slapping hands and shaking fingers. They are the star attraction and I feel (almost) guilty for intruding with my camera. But as long as you stay on the walkways, and don't go into the gravel, everything is OK. And if you just squat to their level and take a moment to get the camera out of your face, you can coax shy smiles from most of them. And I have to remember most of these monks are just boys, teenagers and have rarely seen young white women.
Dinner is pretty mundane (we opt for the Western cafe at the hotel) and a grilled cheese and tomato later... we opt for massages at the hotel spa. There is lots of gesturing as to whether clothes on or off -- as I've gotten massages around the world and some place are more lax than others. And it was a situation of undressing in front of the woman with the door to the room wide open and I quickly got naked, jumped under the sheet and proceed to have one of the best massages of my life. All pressure point and no oil, this tiny woman could make a 200-lb,6-foot man cry. But it wasn't painful and the knots seemed to come out and she did this amazing thing to my head and face -- making my sinus headache that I had for the past several days disappear.
And ya know what -- I slept like a baby -- 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep. The best I've had in a week of travel.
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