Reminiscing
Tibetan Culture
31st /8
Today I picked up a brochure about screenings of Asian documentary films in Phnom Penh and I set about trying to book to see the Cambodian premier of “ Metok” which is a Tibetan tale. Booking was no easy task but I’m so glad Ian persisted on my behalf. He of course cannot go but was happy for me to.
It got me thinking about the time I have managed to spend in Tibetan places: Lhasa, Leh, Xia He, Zhong Dian and Langmusi. I cannot imagine it being possible to fly, train, bus, taxi or boat about so freely any more. It seems so long ago now that I was in any of these places but the memories came flooding back.
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I saw the film tonight and thought it was lovely. To me it was filled with familiar visuals. Being a documentary there were no grandiose stunts or hollywood style romanticism just a simple, heartwarming story with minimal dialogue and a powerful message of endurance and resilience, brilliantly understated historic perspectives and stark realism. The cinematography is inspired and understated and has the vibe of a hand held family video.
My only criticism would be the English subtitles. Whilst the meaning was perfectly clear, proof reading would have ironed out the glitches.
It has had me reminiscing about my own encounters with Tibetan culture as a traveller.
What an absolute privilege it was to see Lhasa when it was mostly inhabited by Tibetans and the traditions, rituals and customs dictated the rhythm of daily life and the Chinese presence though visible was the anomaly.
My most vivid memory is staggeringly slowly climbing the stairs to the Potala Palace, long before a public square existed right next to it, in 1986. In sweltering heat and suffering from the altitude those stairs were an ordeal. An elderly couple at least twice my age, breezed past me, effortlessly gliding up those steps in long thick robes carrying butter for the lamps inside and incense and other other offerings and all without raising a sweat! The cool, dark interior of the palace was a welcome relief at the top but musty smelling, damp interiors and the maze of interconnected corridors and rooms was discombobulating and bewildering. At that time there were few tourists and most people present were fulfilling a life long dream. I marveled that we could stroll through the living quarters and throne room of the Dali Lama. It was possible to wander freely inside and easily get lost. The smoky, dark atmosphere and the heavy scent of melted and often rancid butter certainly deterred any lingering or snooping. I imagine it to be a very different experience now.
Monks studying religious texts in Xia He
Only months later inspired by that glimpse into a culture so complete unknown, Ian and I braved the terrifying, two-day bus journey from
Srinigar in Kashmir to Leh in Ladakh through a landscape that posed such enormous challenges and dangers, it didn’t seem possible that anything could thrive. Yet a vibrant Tibetan enclave complete with family run guesthouses, cafes, vegetable market, general stores, handicraft outlets and a small school with a vast dry dirt yard and flag pole, emerged from the barren winter landscape. We hiked those free stone walled alleys and rugged mountain paths to choruses of children calling hello or shyly giggling from behind hands covering their faces and occasionally trailing us out of sheer curiosity. No one tried to sell us anything and most were surprised to see us looking at their wares. Many stall vendors in the street were fascinated by us. They often gently touched our arms or stroked my hair with expressions of awe on their faces. A truly magical week evaporated in a flash and a 30 minute flight returned us to Srinigar.
Nomad in the Main Street of Xia He - what looks like her knee is in fact a baby’s head. The baby is nestled in her robes. She had given birth only a few days before having walked for two days to get to town for that reason!
Some years later we set out for Xia He in Gansu and stayed in a hotel which although incredibly rundown and comically managed had once been one of the winter palaces of the Dali Lama. Walks into town afforded us the opportunity to observe the harmonious relationship between the Muslim Hui people and Tibetans living in this far flung outpost. Both minority communities lived side by side and maintained their own religious and cultural identities while interacting amicably. Perhaps the open animosity they endured at the hands of the authorities formed the basis of their unbreakable bond but it looked like genuine friendship to me. Muslims ran stores that sold Tibetan fabric, robes, tents, door cloths, incense, scrolls, prayer flags, and all the trappings of Buddhist ceremony. The Tibetans traded butter, skins, dried meat, knives, turquoise and coral, labour and horses.
It was here that we were given Tibetan names by a small group of monks, who appreciated receiving photographs of themselves rehearsing for an upcoming festival, though trying to distribute the pictures turned into a rugby scrum. We had followed the sound of long horns to find all kinds of musicians in rehearsal and then stumbled upon more rehearsals of acrobatic stunts and dance on a riverbank and taken photographs. We printed them locally and shared. We were dubbed Tshering Dorji and Tashi Dema.
The very monks who named us and who were were later able to identify thanks to this photo! Photo credit to Ian and check out the fourth monk under the arm of the one standing!
Several years later we returned and saw and recognized some of the same performance troupe and they were able to tell us the fates of those no longer with them.
We also witnessed first hand the famed Buddhist debates, in which the monks engage. The main intention is to “defeat misconceptions on the philosophy of the Buddhist scriptures, to establish and maintain a defensible point of view, and to overcome and disprove any objections to that view”. Although we could understand not a single word, the highly exaggerated gestures, volume and animated body language was fascinating.
Labrang Monastery and the town and surrounding countryside were teeming with pilgrims, nomads and townsfolk attending the festival and we finally saw the performance we had witnessed the rehearsals of years earlier- the first Tshechu* of our lives, not that we knew that that was what it was then. On that return trip timed for that exact purpose we also saw massive restoration of the original structures.
While living in Yunnan, it became possible to visit Zhong Dian and we were eager to go. It was spellbinding to see again those now more familiar aspects of Tibetan culture:- stupas, prayer flags, giant prayer wheels, rammed earth buildings and butter lamps provided a visual feast. Chanting, circumambulating, prostrating and praying monks and lay people inside the monastery and street side young Tibetan horsemen and truck drivers strolled with a debonair nonchalance that made us feel anxious for their future.
On our second visit, years later, we were able to hang prayer flags for the very first time and had a very close encounter with a pair of Tibetan Mastiffs, in addition to seeing the interior of a tradition Tibetan inn, but the newly built four lane highway made me even more concerned about how long this little paradise could survive without being turned into a cash cow. Ironically we took treacherous narrow back roads on our bus journey in and the only other thing we saw on the last stretch of that highway when we joined it, just before reaching our destination, was a yak!
Langmusi is a stone’s throw from Xia He and another enclave of Tibetan culture located in Sichuan. Travelling by car with a couple we met by chance and have now been friends with for over 20 years, enabled us the see much of the nomadic and semi nomadic lifestyle of those living between the two settlements. This trip was my first ever sighting of free ranging black pigs.
However, the grandeur of Labrang was replaced by a raw realism and at least for us the realization that this civilization was being dispersed, diluted and disrespected. We struggled to find even basic accommodation on arrival and the sprawling dusty township was already pursuing tourism as its best chance of survival. We saw spectacular gorge scenery and met beautiful friendly people but also the harsh conditions and dire circumstances of many were glaringly obvious.
The harsh winters of Zhong Dian and the ingenious method of preserving these rammed earth walls from rain and snow melt - We have been fortunate enough to see these walls being rammed in both Xia He and Bhutan and even lived in a rammed earth home in Samtengang
We declined the opportunity to attend a sky burial because it just didn’t seem appropriate to turn a funeral into a side show and sell tickets. But the upside was definitely the Tibetan food. My love of momos was born in Langmusi.
Of course Bhutan and our Tibetan friends there also came immediately to mind while watching the film tonight. Maroon robes will always do that. There is obviously a cultural and religious connection between Bhutan and Tibet. It made me think, maybe these were the stepping stones that actually lead us to Bhutan when we most needed it, when the bottom had just dropped out of our world and the road ahead looked bleak, not once but twice.
So much of my heart still remains in the Kingdom of the Thunder Dragon.
*Tschechu in Trashigang 2012 for reference -this was when we truly understood what we had witnessed all those years earlier
But I can honesty say, there is still so much to be thankful for.
NB: I'm sorry most images are Xia He, Zhong Dian and Bhutan and for the lack of photos of Lhasa, Leh and Langmusi - it was before we had digital cameras and we never converted many of our millions of film photos to that format!
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