Lhasa, Tibet: Amidst Snowy Mountains, I Just Want to See You

This sacred land that haunts my dreams, perched atop a thousand mountains, spring of ten thousand waters. Tibet has long seeped into my bones and blood. Lhasa is the city that Tibet gave me to live and tell stories in. I spent another half month on the high plateau; this time I went nowhere else, only Lhasa.

People often ask why I love this land so much. The 'Third Pole' snow plateau has always been immensely charismatic—raw yet delicate, simple yet romantic. Its unique Tibetan culture imparts an atmosphere to Tibet that is unlike anywhere else, beyond compare.

On this snow plateau, I always feel a sense of 'returning home.' Those who have never been to Tibet imagine its beauty and purity, dreaming that one day they might cleanse their soul here. If you ever get a chance to live in Lhasa, you’ll find that wherever you go in later years, Lhasa follows you. Even a short stay of three or five months leaves an unforgettable memory.

This time back in Lhasa, the Jokhang Temple was still closed, undergoing some fire safety repairs. Gone were the prostration pilgrims in front, the sang offering hearths not yet lit. Even with a little less ritual, people still did their daily kora on Barkhor Street.

Lhasa is changing, with each passing day. The city slowly becomes more beautiful and modern. New things are absorbed, but old things remain. The millennia-old traditions of Tibetan people stand out in today’s society, and for good reason.

The rainy season came a bit early this year. High plateau skies are like a child's face, changing in an instant. In the morning it’s sunny, with Tibet’s unique blue skies and white clouds. If you want to bask in the sun, just take off your hat and face the sunlight; life feels full of hope. But by evening or night, the sky clouds over and it rains. However, rain in Tibet never lasts long; it’s over soon, and you often see rainbows.

On the streets of Lhasa, I never want to carry a camera. I just want to wander comfortably empty-handed, doing kora or sipping tea. I never feel regret—this city is etched deeply in my mind, truly something I’ll never forget. Coincidentally, this trip we explored Lhasa’s surroundings I hadn’t seen before. Of course, the three great sacred lakes—Yamdrok Yumtso and Namtso—were the highlights, being close to Lhasa.

Day1 Lhasa–Namtso–Nagqu

Day2 Nagqu–Lhasa–Barkhor Street–Potala Palace Square–Pingcuo

Day3 Lhasa–Junba Fishing Village–Yamdrok Yumtso–Lhasa

Day4 Lhasa–Lhünzhub rapeseed flowers–Xia Temple–Siling Temple–Pangdü Township

Day5 Pangdü Township–Reting Monastery–Zangxiong Village–Damxung

Day6 Damxung–Tsugchok Monastery–Tshejor Ling–Princess Wencheng–Songtsam

Day7 Lhasa–Tsakisha Monastery

After my Qinghai stargazing trip ended, I flew to Lhasa and stayed a week. My days were filled with tea-drinking and meals with friends; time flew. Just as it felt like parting again, I was reluctant to leave. Big Brother Zhu drove me to Namtso. After a day in a snowy white world, I still missed Lhasa life. I gave up my flight back to Chengdu and took a train back to Lhasa instead. Coincidentally, Liu Wei drove solo from Xiamen all the way along the Yunnan–Tibet route to Lhasa, so we had a few more days of Lhasa adventures together. That’s how my half month in Lhasa shaped up.

After being in Lhasa so long, besides knowing the city outskirts like Sera Monastery and Drepung Monastery, and a bit farther like Dra Yerpa and Ganden Monastery, I never expected so many lovely temples near Lhünzhub, places that lifted my spirits.

Of course, there’s no need to describe how beautiful the two major sacred lakes are. Here I especially recommend: Xia Temple, Siling Temple, and Reting Monastery. Though I’ve visited Tibet for the eleventh time, it was my first trip on the northern Lhasa loop. Besides Lhasa’s big three monasteries, many understated yet beautiful temples dot this route, perfect for a good ramble.

I posted photos of Namtso and saw a comment: 'Are you a fairy? You live in paradise every day.' 'Hmm, yes, I am.' This was my fourth trip to Namtso, but I still haven’t made it to the Sacred Elephant Gate. Maybe because I know I will go one day, I don’t feel regret. Namtso used to be Tibet’s largest lake until Siling Tso accidentally surpassed it, now making Namtso the second largest.

Six years ago, my first sight of Namtso was already breathtakingly beautiful. This time, the landscape along the way captivated me even more—utterly paradisiacal. In May on the plateau, you can still encounter vast snowy expanses. Aside from our car, everything was dressed in silver.

Every stretch of road in Tibet has its own charm. Nyingchi’s is delicate, Ngari’s is limpid, Nagqu’s is rugged. Heading from Lhasa towards Damxung, this famous Qinghai–Tibet Highway, National Route 109, is fully paved and in excellent condition.

The rainy season arrived early; by May, Lhasa often had rain at night. Namtso stands at 4,700 meters, a full thousand higher than Lhasa. Rain in Lhasa usually meant snow at Namtso. As we drew closer, the surrounding plateau hills grew increasingly white.

As the sun rose, the air warmed, and mist began to drift in the white world, a time-lapse of swirling clouds right before our eyes. All we could manage was 'Wow, so beautiful,' no other adjectives.

Namtso costs 120 yuan to enter; if you go to the Sacred Elephant Gate, it’s another 80. We didn’t plan to make that long detour, just a loop around Tashi Dor Peninsula. The sacred Namtso has remained on the snow plateau for ages, bound to Nyenchen Tanglha snow mountains in life and death.

They say one should go to two places in life: the sea and Tibet. Namtso feels like a fusion of both—boundless waters and snowy mountains, a scene perhaps incomparable to any other.

I've flown drones over many lakes in Ngari, but regretfully still haven’t reached the Sacred Elephant Gate. The aerial view from Tashi Dor was just so-so. I highly recommend visiting during April or May when Namtso is thawing. If the roads aren't blocked by heavy snow, the half-frozen lake will mesmerize you to the core.

In Tibetan Buddhism, it’s said you circumambulate mountains in Horse Year and lakes in Sheep Year. During Sheep Year, many believers journey afar to make kora around Namtso, because a single circumambulation in that year is worth twelve times the merit.

A full Namtso kora is 280 kilometers; on foot, it takes about half a month. Some drive off-road vehicles around it, a true test of driving skill. The most awe-inspiring spot is definitely the Sacred Elephant Gate.

In Tibet, without a car, you can hardly get anywhere. Best way to visit Namtso: rent a car and self-drive if you’re skilled, hire a car if not, and only as a last resort join a group tour from Lhasa. Such a beautiful place, limited to only an hour’s gawking when the round trip from Lhasa takes 10 hours—that’s torturous.

Accommodation at Namtso is basic. The high altitude and thin air make altitude sickness likely, but for the stunning starry skies, sunrise and sunset, it's well worth experiencing a bit of AMS.

While waiting at Xining airport to fly to Lhasa, I really wanted to go home. I’d been traveling for over a month and missed the food of Quanzhou—things like misua soup, wontons, affordable fish, shrimp, and crab from the market, the small just-landed fish I loved most. I almost wanted to fly straight back. But then I thought, Xining is only a thousand or so kilometers from Lhasa, my beloved Lhasa so close—how could I not go? That probably sealed my eleventh return to Lhasa.

I didn’t know Yang Shuhan was in Lhasa then. We’d met years ago in Nyingchi and spent time together in Lhasa, idly doing kora, drinking tea, eating. I had no idea he was there, or I would’ve been even more excited boarding the plane. But as soon as I landed and opened WeChat, his message appeared.

Over the years, my deep love for this land comes not only from its indescribably beautiful plateau, but more from the people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had here, pulling me back again and again.

I hopped on the airport bus; the terminal had changed to Norbulingka, not the Civil Aviation Bureau anymore. I’d booked the Pingcuo Kangsang View Hotel, so I grabbed a taxi and called Yang Shuhan to ask where he was. We arranged to eat at Namaste; I’d been craving their naan for so long.

My daily life in Lhasa is simple: kora on Barkhor Street, drinking tea in various sweet tea houses, occasionally strolling in Potala Palace Square. At that time, due to the pandemic, the Potala Palace and Jokhang Temple were still closed; now they’re open with timed visits. In Lhasa, aside from wearing a mask at security checks, the pandemic didn’t have much impact.

Off to do kora on Barkhor Street! Every security checkpoint on Barkhor requires an ID card and face scan; drones are only allowed with special permission. This year, because of a minor fire at Jokhang a couple of years ago, fire safety renovations were rushed during the pandemic, so Jokhang Square looked like a construction site.

Also due to the pandemic, prostrations and sang offerings were no longer allowed at will; it felt like something was missing. But overall it’s been fine; thankfully, this sacred land saw no spread of the virus. I’m so grateful.

Every year in Lhasa brings changes, and the most obvious this year is that the whole Barkhor Street became a photo-shoot strip. It’s terrifying. During last year’s Mid-Autumn and National Day, when I did a travel photo shoot at Wind Horse Image, there were just a few others. This year it was a swarm, kind of scary. The Barkhor Street in my heart shouldn’t be like this.

It’s a thousand-year historic and cultural street, the living soul of Lhasa! How could it be reduced to a travel-photo alley? In the past, in Lhasa, day or night, as long as you came to Jokhang Square, you’d see pilgrims circumambulating Jokhang, taking three steps and a prostration, round after round, or facing Jokhang directly, doing thousands of prostrations a day.

Prostration is a way of worshiping the Buddha, completely sincere. Tibetans from thousands of kilometers away might make a long pilgrimage, prostrating all the way to the holy city of Lhasa, right up to Jokhang’s doorstep. This journey, lasting months, braving the elements, they advance for the faith in their hearts.

My deep love for Tibet, apart from the unparalleled grandeur of its landscapes, stems from their faith. In my hometown Quanzhou, we also have many beliefs—temples every few steps throughout the old city. But we tend to believe more in this life, praying for worldly success. For Tibetan people, their belief in reincarnation leads them to see life and death more clearly; this life’s practice seems meant for the next.

We walked clockwise along the street, sometimes one loop, sometimes three, passing Tibetan grannies with prayer wheels, and grandpas resting on chairs after their kora. For over a millennium, Barkhor has been a street of faith, yet also overflowing with shops. It’s special—ancient yet lively. I just hope there’ll be fewer photo shoots, not taking over the entire street, then it would be perfect.

Where to drink tea? Old Lhasa hands know to find a tea house on sunny afternoons and nestle in for the whole afternoon. In Lhasa’s old town, no building rises above the Potala Palace. Finding a tea house with a view of Jokhang’s golden top and the distant Potala is perfection. My favorite is the upper floor of Nysang Chenpo Mall. The entrance isn’t easy to spot. It’s close to Jokhang’s golden roof, and the majestic Potala is right there. When I tire of sweet tea, I order a pot of plain butter tea, salty, brewed with brick tea and salt.

Magpie Pavilion is another pick; deeper inside it leads to Paradise Time bookstore, also a place to while away hours. The third floor of Magpie Pavilion is festooned with colorful prayer flags, fluttering in fine weather against the blue sky and white clouds, truly uplifting. Finally, I’ll recommend the rooftop of the Resar Hotel. It’s pricier than the first two, but the ambience is better, though the Potala view seems a bit farther.

This is a room with the Potala Palace. Almost every time I come to Lhasa, I stay a few nights at Pingcuo Kangsang View Hotel, always hoping to be near the Potala for a little while. I started staying at Pingcuo Kangsang from its old and new youth hostels. Later, after renovations, even the upstairs Old Fish Restaurant became their own trendy music restaurant, with singers starting at eight every evening, before dark. I also went from breakfast delivered to my room to enjoying it in the view restaurant.

Pingcuo Kangsang’s location is unique. You can watch the Potala glow at sunrise and turn from day to night right from your room; few hotels can match that. That’s of course its biggest selling point.

The room has everything you need: oxygen supply, humidifier, underfloor heating—exactly the essentials for the plateau. The bedding is impeccable, seemingly chosen to five-star standards. The bathroom has separate wet and dry areas, my favorite and most convenient design.

I’m not just casually recommending it. From Pingcuo, it’s about a 10-minute walk to both Jokhang Temple and Potala Palace, perfectly central. A large shopping center sits right at the doorstep, making eating, staying, and traveling extremely convenient. The airport bus terminal at the Civil Aviation Bureau is just one street away.

Life should have poetry and distant places, and if that distant place offers a home where you feel at ease, that’s enough. For me, Pingcuo is exactly that in Lhasa.

Bodala Palace: During the pandemic, the Potala Palace broadcasted live on Taobao, presenting itself to the world online for the first time in centuries. I remember my first visit to Lhasa, my first glimpse of the Potala Palace; tears welled up as I thought, 'I never imagined I’d stand before you in my lifetime.' It’s the world’s highest, most colossal and intact ancient palace-fortress complex in Tibet, with the main white and red buildings symbolizing different meanings. Everyone has seen the Potala on the 50-yuan note; every traveler to Lhasa must check in at that exact spot—Chakpori (Medicine King Hill). Every year between autumn and winter, the Potala undergoes a fresh whitewash. If you’re around then, you could even taste the paint; it won’t kill you. Besides lime, they add honey, yak milk, and sugar—truly a 'sweet palace.' Apart from the architecture itself, several spots offer great views of the Potala.

1. Potala Palace Square: The world’s highest city square. Recently in Lhasa, due to the pandemic and renovations, after 8 p.m. you can’t really go anywhere else—probably only the square remains open. In previous years there was a music fountain, perfect for capturing reflections of the Potala. 2. Zonggo Lukang Park: Located behind the Potala, this park has a pond called Dragon King Pool where you can get reflection shots of the Potala. You can also see the grand palace from the side. I recall working at the Tibet Publishing House one year, facing the Potala. After lunch, during plum blossom season, I often strolled in the park, breathing in their fragrance. 3. Lhalu Wetland: The lung of Lhasa. After being closed a long time, it reopened this year. It gave me my first impression of Lhasa; that forest path, not too long nor short—one side the mundane city, the other the paradise of Lhalu. Viewing the Potala from Lhalu is superb; the documentary 'Roof of the World' shot many scenes there. 4. Nanshan Park: Hmm, I’m embarrassed to say, I’ve been in Lhasa so long yet still haven’t visited.

Junba Fishing Village wasn’t originally our destination. We set out from Lhasa too late, planning a day trip to Reting Monastery, but that was naive. So we pivoted. I vividly remembered scenes from 'Roof of the World' filmed at Junba.

We used Amap and typed 'Junba,' only to realize we were in the wrong place. You must search 'Junba' in Amap. The detour of several dozen kilometers was fine, but it shows how transliteration errors often happen in Tibet. Keep your gas tank full.

Junba is Tibet’s only natural village that lives off fishing. It’s most famous for its yak-hide raft dance and holds a fishing festival in the third month of the Tibetan calendar. I’ve always felt: if I encounter something, it’s fate; if not, no worries. I come to Tibet so often, I’ll see it eventually. Plus, Junba is so close to Lhasa, it’s just a matter of minutes if I want to go.

Junba sits at the end of Lhasa River, where it meets the Yarlung Tsangpo. Just an inconspicuous bend leads you into this magical village. Surrounded by mountains on three sides and water on one, with many people and little land, they had to survive. Like coastal regions, they rely on what’s in front of them to eat—here, the only river.

The loveliest thing in Junba is the mountaintop temple. While praying, you can see the whole village below. It’s a shame we missed the yak-hide raft dance, but with a little regret, I can come back next time.

Yamdrok Yumtso: Those who haven’t been to Tibet might think it’s water-scarce, with notions like Tibetans only bathe three times in their life. In fact, there are countless lakes here; just a Ngari northern route trip leaves you stumbling from one lake to another. Scattered across the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, rivers flow from sources of many world-famous waterways. Yamdrok Yumtso, one of Tibet’s three sacred lakes, is a very popular spot, but circumnavigating it often reveals views you’ve never seen before.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to Yamdrok, probably over a dozen. As Yeshi says, every time a friend comes to Lhasa, you take them to Yamdrok. Sometimes on a Lhasa trip I visit more than once.

The lake’s shape resembles a coral branch, or more aptly, a scorpion. Its shoreline stretches and twists, presenting ever-changing scenes; no single angle reveals its full panorama. 'Yamdrok' means 'upper pasture lake' or 'the jade lake' in Tibetan, around 4,500 meters in altitude, so altitude sickness is manageable if you don’t run or jump.

After leaving Junba, it was only early afternoon—too early to head back. We decided to swing by Yamdrok. This visit again offered that classic blue-ribbon view you’d find with any online search.

The most beautiful part of Yamdrok is around Rito Monastery. Normally, to see that blue ribbon you cross Gampala Pass. Before the pass, you’ll often encounter Tibetan mastiffs waiting for photo ops.

Actually, there are two other roads to Yamdrok: one via Charola Pass, which with Gampala forms a perfect one-day loop back to Lhasa. The other, with superb views, is from Chek La Pass. You can set 'Zhangda Township' as your navigation destination, but note: beyond Tarü Town and Nagarze county you need a border permit. If you want to circle the lake, bring it.

Some tips: Circling Yamdrok takes at least two days to avoid scenic fatigue, though every frame looks like a painting. Suggested route: Day1 Lhasa–Dongra Township–Rito Monastery–Zhangda Township–Gömbusü Sum (heart-shaped lake)–Tarü Town–Nagarze. Day2 Nagarze–Tengrong Tso–Kongmo Tso–Gampala Pass–Lhasa. There are virtually no lunch stops along this route, so pack dry food. Don’t forget the border permit. If you have extra time, after Gömbusü Sum, before Tarü Town, you can head to Puma Yumtso. But if day one runs late, stay in Nagarze.

Lhünzhub rapeseed flowers: This season, you probably can only see rapeseed flowers on the high plateau—Qinghai Lake and Menyuan’s blooms are at the same time. Summer on the plateau is the most comfortable.

We set out from Lhasa day one aiming for Reting Monastery. Even after countless Lhasa trips, I’d never visited Lhünzhub or Nyemo counties, both worth exploring. Since they lie in opposite directions, Liu Wei and I chose the Lhünzhub loop.

We had no fixed return date, so our route was casual. Suddenly coming across a field of rapeseed flowers, we stopped and lingered. The high-altitude background—sparse trees and houses, distant mountains, and blue sky with clouds—made these golden flowers heavenly. Strolling among them, I felt unwilling to leave.

Sometimes I chase flower seasons on purpose, usually not disappointed, though occasionally missing them (like Xinjiang’s apricot valley). This time, completely unexpected, we stumbled upon a rapeseed field—pure bliss.

Xia Temple (Nunnery): In Tibetan, 'Lhünzhub' means 'naturally formed place,' fittingly the 'granary of Lhasa.' Before coming, I knew little about what Lhünzhub offered, except Reting Monastery. We initially just wanted to see Reting, yet lucked into Xia Temple and Siling Temple—so worth the trip.

Xia Temple is about 90 kilometers from Lhasa, a nunnery with 108 stupas, hence the 'Temple of a Hundred Stupas.' It’s off the beaten path, known by few, with scant information online. Only because of a passing mention from Whale did I discover this beauty.

Walking among the stupa forest, I met many locals doing kora, some even prostrating. There are various legends about Xia Temple, but my favorite goes: three girls came to worship here; one stormy night, with no place to rest, they used a mantra to turn the temple into a nunnery. Three stupas commemorate them, though now there are 108.

At first the weather was gloomy, but blue sky lingered in the distance. While circling, sunbeams gradually broke through, finally revealing brilliant, pure white stupas against blue sky, clouds, and snowy peaks.

Hardly any tourists come here. Besides Liu Wei and me, all afternoon there were only locals praying and walking kora. The lazy afternoon sun warmed us; I could zone out here for ages.

In this restless era, a quiet, sunny temple with few visitors is perhaps the best place to lift one’s spirits.

An accidental encounter with Siling Temple: After Xia Temple, we navved to 'Pangdü Township,' all rough roads, jolting along mountain paths. We had no idea where Siling Temple was; you can’t navigate to it. We gave a ride to a Tibetan uncle; since it was just us two, we picked him up whenever we could. I honestly had no clue if there was lodging ahead; the scenery was nice, but the area didn’t seem too backward. Sure enough, his destination appeared right after crossing the pass. He didn’t speak Mandarin, only knew to say 'Stop.'

After he got off, there was a tea house—I only recognized the Tibetan word 'tea.' I asked if they had food. I never imagined a village just 100km from Lhasa would lack running water and electricity. We communicated with limited phrases: 'noodles,' 'Tibetan noodles.' Finally we ate dinner in the evening, having only snacked at noon. With difficulty, we learned there was a guesthouse in nearby Pangdü Township, so we drove on relieved.

Just around a bend, the view suddenly opened up, revealing a cliff-hanging temple on the distant mountain—Siling Temple. My god, this is stunning! I had seen photos in 'Chinese National Geographic' and mentally bookmarked it. Seeing it in person, perched on a sheer cliff, was utterly breathtaking. It’s a sacred site of the Taglung Kagyu sect. When I posted online, Yeshi said it looked just like Tiger’s Nest Temple.

Liu Wei continued climbing the mountain, while I, seeing dusk approaching, flew my drone to capture the beauty. As he ascended the temple and listened to chanting, I drank beer with the Tibetan family at the foot of the mountain. One reason I love Tibetan areas is how easily you drop your guard and instantly make friends. They had built the temple at the mountain base; the summit temple was under reconstruction. They offered me Lhasa beer and raw yak jerky, sliced with a Tibetan knife—so cool. We said goodbye after Liu Wei descended, then checked into the Pangdü Township guesthouse. Conditions were very basic, shared bathrooms, but having a bathroom was already great.

Snow on the mountain! While we slept at the guesthouse, rain fell outside, meaning snow on the mountain. Waking up, Liu Wei asked, 'Climb the temple?' 'Let’s eat first, not now, hungry.' Fickle woman. After noodles, the sky was misty and shrouded—maybe we should take a look? Wow! A fairyland! We quickly drove to Siling Temple. Even though it was a bit late, around 9 or 10 a.m., the thin snow was already melting under the sun, but we didn’t miss it.

The Tiger Head Reservoir below and Siling Temple above formed a perfect scene. They say the back mountain behind Siling Temple is majestic like a mighty lion, surrounded by dense bush and forest—an ideal place for tranquil cultivation. Locals sometimes write it as 'Lion Forest Temple,' meaning lion forest.

I climbed up, constantly meeting locals carrying bricks one by one up the mountain, just as the earliest Siling Temple must have been built brick by brick. Step by step, I trudged up, panting even empty-handed, while they carried cement, bricks—real weight on their backs.

The distant mountains overnight had turned completely white. At the temple top, I ran into the same Tibetan friends from the night before, along with a lama whose Mandarin was decent. He told me the government had allocated funds for reconstruction, and the dirt road from Lhasa to here was being paved. Once the road is finished, they can develop tourism.

Honestly, I’m selfish. I wish the road remains under construction forever, so no one discovers this place, letting it stay quiet and undisturbed.

In a Lhasa afternoon, we drank tea and sunbathed at Tshejor Ling. Ah Guang, who’s traveled all over Tibet, was asked about nearby attractions. He immediately said, 'Go to Reting Monastery! The most special thing isn’t the monastery itself, but the tens of thousands of ancient cypress trees around it.'

In Tibet, seeing a single tree is rare, let alone a forest of cypresses—though this doesn’t apply to Nyingchi, Tibet’s 'south of the Yangtze.' That piqued my interest. On the third day of our trip, after Junba Village, Xia Temple, and Siling Temple, we crossed the terribly rough Chara Mountain, drove along reservoirs on county roads for ages, then followed speed-limited paved roads until a stunning ancient cypress forest appeared—I knew we’d reached Reting Monastery.

Bead collectors know 'hundred-seed' bracelets; this is Tibet’s only locally produced bracelet material. The saying goes, 'All cypress seeds under heaven come from Reting,' and the source is this ancient cypress forest surrounding the monastery.

In fact, this millennia-old cypress forest has a cool name: Reting National Forest Park, 160 km from Lhasa at 4,200 meters altitude. Such towering trees at this altitude are incredible.

Scattered around the monastery, the trees vary in shape, many quite tall, some reaching over thirty meters. I was utterly mesmerized. It didn’t feel like Tibet at all, yet distant snowy peaks stood brilliant white.

The thousand-year-old Reting Monastery: We parked near the white stupas and saw a monastery shop. I always crave sweet drinks on the road, so I bought a can of Nescafe and chatted with the people there. Soon an administrator came and asked us to register our info—understandable during the pandemic.

Normally Reting requires an entrance ticket, but during Covid, many places waived fees. We entered with locals, who gave us a tour. Reting Monastery is nearly a thousand years old, the first Kadam sect monastery, now Gelug.

Legend says after Guanyin Bodhisattva completed her practice on Poryang Gangchen Mountain, she shaved her hair, which turned into the tens of thousands of cypress trees around the temple. 'Reting' in Tibetan means 'to uproot all afflictions and continue until one transcends the cycle of rebirth.' My time there certainly uprooted all worries.

I absolutely love the temple’s golden roof, the sacred golden deer and Dharma wheel, plus the distant blue sky, white clouds, and victory banners—so harmonious. To come by bus, catch the 7:30 a.m. coach from Lhasa East Suburb Station.

The journey is always the most beautiful part: I spotted 'Zangxiong Village' in a guidebook and thought it sounded promising. Liu Wei and I decided to head there. But the scenery along the way outshone the destination—indeed, the best views are always on the road.

It was still early, so we figured we might as well stay in Damxung. My god, this newly built road had barely any traffic. Since Liu Wei is a drummer, we decided to play some drum under the blue sky, white clouds, and snowy mountains.

On a hilltop with a few homes, overlooking snowy peaks and with cattle and sheep nearby, I learned to play the djembe on the spot—thanks to a great teacher.

At one fork, we suddenly found ourselves on the famous National Route 109, the Qinghai–Tibet Highway. The distant Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains stood eternally magnificent. Traffic thickened, and with sunset, we ended another beautiful day.

Songtsam Laqu Karpo: Objectively speaking, Songtsam is truly outstanding. Whether named among '101 Best Hotels in the World' or 'China’s 9 Hotels with the Best Scenery,' Songtsam’s lodge series is remarkable.

Finally, I got to stay at this hotel facing the Potala Palace from across the Lhasa River, in Tshejor Ling, on Paradise Grassland—a very quiet valley. The ten buildings, modern yet with old charm, form a small village. Strolling among the Tibetan-style structures feels like walking Barkhor Street; every brick and tile looks so Tibetan.

I took a taxi to Songtsam. As soon as I stepped out, a staff member took my luggage. While checking in, they served butter tea and barley cookies—very warm. The buildings aren't far apart, but they still shuttle you by electric cart, since hauling luggage over cobblestones can be tiring.

Best of all was my room with a balcony. Open the window, and there’s the Potala Palace with blue sky, clouds, and snowy mountains. The room was huge, maybe 80 square meters, with a comfortable bedroom featuring all-day oxygen, a light-filled living room, and a writing desk for quiet work.

The sofa was more like a daybed; you could sit cross-legged or lie flat. Coffee machine, tea bags, sodas—the minibar had it all. Apart from feeling a bit lonely in such a lovely room alone, everything else was pure bliss.

My favorite touch was coming back to a warm cup of snow fungus red date soup after a tiring day. Those two days at Songtsam were my most memorable recent times in Lhasa. Lying in bed watching the Potala, with a bird’s-eye view of Lhasa city—how luxurious.

Tshejor Ling’s waterfall: Brother Zhou suggested we ride a motorcycle into the mountains. The road turns to dirt, and they now charge a 5-yuan sanitation fee. In summer, the waterfall cascades down with a splash; we just watched quietly.

Along the way, many people were enjoying 'linka' picnics; Paradise Grassland is perfect for a day trip near Lhasa. Some old peach trees bloom on schedule in March and April; in summer, their green leaves offer shade. They say in winter the waterfall freezes, quite stunning.

Every time I come to Tshejor Ling, the weather seems to cooperate, lifting your mood. We saw two backpackers heading our way; they planned to camp there that night. About a dozen kilometers from Lhasa, light pollution should be less, and they might see the starry sky.

About Tshejor Ling: Once, taxiing back to Songtsam, the driver told me the legend. A Jokhang guardian deity, Tsesungtsan, fell in love with the beautiful goddess Belaime, daughter of Palden Lhamo, the highest protectress. They pledged themselves secretly. When Palden Lhamo discovered it, she angrily banished Tsesungtsan to Tshejor Ling, allowing him to gaze across the river at his love only once a year, for just the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn. Sympathizing villagers turned that gazing day into 'Protector Deity Valentine’s Day,' and Tshejor Ling gradually became known as the Lovers’ Village of the holy land. The legend goes something like that, and it sounds romantic.

'Princess Wencheng' grand live performance: Most people come to Tshejor Ling for this show. I grossly underestimated high-altitude nighttime weather and nearly froze during the performance.

The stage is the landscape itself, and you can even see stars overhead. The show tells the story of Princess Wencheng’s marriage to Songtsen Gampo. I went less for the plot and more for the Tibetan dances and operas. The performance features waist drumming, a’ga, yak-hide raft dance, and Tibetan opera.

I adore Tibetan opera, with its large masks whose shapes and colors hint at good or evil. Even not understanding it, the sounds and steps stir the soul.

If you’re free in Lhasa, spending a day in Tshejor Ling for a linka, the show, and coffee is a great idea.

Every Wednesday, scrolling Moments, I see a goddess of drinking—Zaki Lhamo, at Tibet’s only temple of wealth, Tsakisha Monastery. To pray there, we always bring khata and baijiu. Maybe the khata can be skipped, but definitely not the liquor.

My first time in Lhasa, I serendipitously met Zaki Lhamo. Without a guide, I randomly went with a hostel friend. I later heard that this Lhasa wealth deity originated from Han Chinese areas, brought along when Princess Wencheng entered Tibet, and later enshrined in Tsakisha Monastery.

People seeking wealth come to pray before Zaki Lhamo, hence it became Tibet’s sole wealth temple. Wednesday morning is said to be the most efficacious time; we often made plans Tuesday night. Mornings in Lhasa start two hours later than inland; 10 a.m. is normal. Sometimes we’d rise late and arrive at noon, only to find long queues with bottles and khatas, thick white sang smoke swirling in the air—that familiar sight.

Buy some juniper and pine branches at the temple gate, toss them into the sang burner, watch the flames consume them, carrying my heart away with the wind. I prefer queuing until the main hall entrance, then buying baijiu and khata directly. Many also bring butter and ladles to refill lamps, not just offering drinks.

You often see Zaki Lhamo’s image on people’s homes, cars, even phone screens. The goddess is distinctive: black face, furious round eyes, tongue sticking out—easy to remember. Each time I approach her, I bow in respect. After years in Tibet, I don’t wish for much, but if the goddess can make me wealthy, that would be fine too.

Of course, Tsakisha isn’t only for wealth. They say Monday is for health, Wednesday wealth, Friday safety. (I joke that maybe other days Zaki Lhamo is hungover.) But indeed, the temple is said to be efficacious in many ways. Near the shrine, hands pressed together, everyone prays silently. Because of the crowds, your close encounter lasts no more than five seconds—cherish it. After circumambulating the main hall clockwise, you can climb the stairs. The second floor is an empty corridor; the third, a spacious open terrace. Over the golden temple roof, you overlook Lhasa. Once you could climb to the fourth floor for a broader view, but rules change; blocked areas are normal. In the courtyard, many women clean butter lamps with water infused with saffron, the golden color quite striking.

A Wednesday pilgrimage to Tsakisha takes one to two hours; just follow the queue. Don’t miss the rooftop; spending a moment there after praying is soothing.

Now I’m in Lhasa again. My twelfth Tibet journey started with a direct flight from Quanzhou, stopping briefly in Kunming—six hours from China’s southeast to southwest. Once unreachable, Lhasa is now just a stone’s throw thanks to convenient transport. The rainy season in Lhasa is a bit annoying; one has to wait eagerly for a glimmer of sun, mostly it’s overcast and chilly. I spent a week in Lhünling, living a divine life, eating matsutake in endless variety. We dug for matsutake in the mountains; on fine days, I watched prayer flags, with blue sky and clouds ever-present. But Nyingchi too is in its rainy season, often raining the whole day. Tibet truly is a place one never tires of, no matter how many times you come.