A Retired Couple’s Winter Lhasa Journey—Part Three: Ecstasy of the Spirit

Red Chair (June 21, 2022)

From February 19 to 27, 2022, my wife and I (one on the verge of retirement, the other already retired) flew to Lhasa and spent nine blissful days. Without further ado, here’s Part Three, sharing the joy of our trip.

Back in Kunming, when we caught up with friends, we borrowed the phrase “a body in hell, eyes in paradise” to describe our Lhasa experience. So what did we perceive, and how did it answer our questing hearts?

① This land has a soul.

Two days were mostly spent flying to and from Lhasa, giving us seven leisurely days on the ground. Each day we walked between 10,000 and 25,000 steps. Treading this land on the roof of the world, we felt its solidity underfoot, met countless Tibetan faces with our eyes, and often exchanged “Tashi Delek” with our lips. Our gazes collided with so much warmth, and we received even more courtesy and help in person. On the seventh day, while riding the bus to Drepung Monastery, we were discussing how many stops were left. A middle-aged woman across the aisle, who had been chanting prayers softly, turned to us and kindly pointed out where to get off, and said that after walking ahead and turning right, there would be a minibus taking visitors to the monastery, and told us the fare. Later, I had a small reflection: when wandering around downtown Lhasa, we shouldn’t have worn hiking jackets and carried trekking backpacks. If I go again, I’ll wear a dark winter office suit, leather shoes, a cross-body bag, and a felt fedora, losing myself in the common rhythm of city life. In those nine days, we didn’t see a single fight or hear anyone cursing. The only time we saw a group of people noisily jostling and flailing their limbs was the debating monks at Sera Monastery.

② Always on that street.

Barkhor Street is the most famous street in Lhasa, and on the tourist trail it’s equally renowned. We spent most of our seven days around the Potala Palace and the old city. So Barkhor Square and Barkhor Street were places we kept returning to. Our first meal in Lhasa was a seasonal set-menu Tibetan dish at Xunshi on Barkhor Street, and our final dinner was at A Ke Ding just off Barkhor Street. Every day, we almost always passed through Barkhor Street or were on our way to it. We grew used to seeing figures doing full prostrations late at night, encountered tides of pilgrims turning prayer wheels, saw elderly women and young girls huddled together on long benches sunbathing, and watched waves of security personnel patrolling and keeping watch.

③ True yellow, true red, truly vivid.

The blue sky and white clouds that feel like paradise to the eyes, the snow and ice on the mountains beyond the city, the fluttering five-colored prayer flags, and especially the architectural beauty right before our eyes. The square, right-angled walls of the buildings are painted in pure solid yellows, reds, blacks, and creamy whites—these unadorned, true colors strike our vision intensely. The beauty of Lhasa’s old city is a feast for the eyes.

④ The stream of people flows on.

As we walked through the old city, watching hurried pilgrims, Tibetans bustling to buy New Year goods, and elderly folk sitting idly twirling prayer wheels, hearing the lively chatter in tea houses, it felt as if time was rushing backward in a daze. It must have been like this ten years ago. Was it the same thirty years ago? Does the wheel of time keep turning like this forever? The stories of human life are like a kaleidoscope, and history books record the rise and fall of notable figures. The city has expanded, and different neighborhoods now show more varied faces. But here in Lhasa’s old city, the flowing crowd seems like frozen history, giving us the illusion of time travel. On the eighth day, we stood at the entrance of Chongkang Market, hesitating—should we go in or not? It was too crowded. Finally mustering some courage, we entered through one gate, weaving, edging sideways, yielding the way, detouring, and then quickly came out through another gate. Those few minutes felt lightning fast, yet we seemed to have squeezed through several eras. The noisy Tibetan talk in our ears, the smell of yak butter, the endless array of New Year goods—perhaps unchanged for decades, even centuries.

⑤ Sitting and spinning at internet-famous spots.

The alluring online tales made winter in Lhasa’s old city full of temptation. Makye Ame was just ten meters to the right of our hotel. We eventually sat by the window on the second floor, watching the ebb and flow of people on Barkhor Street as the sun set. A disabled middle-aged man, carrying a prosthetic leg and a crutch, did prostrations with only one leg—his lean body and harmonious silhouette. A tall, slender child slid along the flagstones with each prostration, covering a distance of almost twice his height. And an old grandma with a thin braid reaching down to her knee crease; my memory holds only the image of her turning a prayer wheel as she walked. When we are as old as her, will we still have such devotion?

We got used to the taste of Namaste’s food, but we liked even more the wood carvings on its walls, the old photos, and its colorful decorative style. The servers were dressed in exotic attire. High altitude defeated my stomach but compensated my eyes.

I had long heard of the famous live-action show “Princess Wencheng” but had no chance to see it; the theater was closed in winter. While strolling and sunbathing on Xianzu Island, we gazed from afar across the river at the foot of the mountains—was that where it was?

⑥ Plump ducks on the river.

Our original plan was to stay two nights on Xianzu Island by the Lhasa River: watch snow-capped peaks glow golden at dawn, and see the golden sun sink into the long river at dusk. Unfortunately, a headache forced us to switch to an oxygen-enriched hotel. Only on the morning of the eighth day did we purposely walk to Taiyang Island and Xianzu Island to soak up the sun. The Lhasa River flowed gently, its water crystal clear. On the bridge between Taiyang Island and Xianzu Island, we looked out at the sky and the land, snow and water. On the wide river surface and on the sandbars, there were many plump ducks—white, yellow, and multicolored—jumping up, diving into the water, chasing one another. They seemed never short of food, their size astonishingly large. Environmental protection in Tibet is really well done, and people’s care for nature is admirable. The roads on the island were busy with vehicles, but there were only the two of us on the sidewalk. The sun cast golden light over the river, and in the distance, snow-capped mountains gleamed white. Signs of human activity at the foot of the mountains appeared minuscule against the vast landscape. Occasionally, a fat duck skimmed across the water, startling us out of our dreamy thoughts.

⑦ Rest, recover, and look forward to a reunion.

The land of snows seems to possess a magical power. My wife and I are captivated by it. We feel fortunate to live on the great southwestern plateau of our country, where we can happily keep planning trips to visit the surrounding snowy peaks and glaciers, forests and streams, flower-dotted meadows and grasslands, and highland lakes.