With its far flung peaks and hilltop monasteries, Tibet’s nickname of “the roof of the world” couldn’t be more apt. Elevation aside, Tibet isn’t an easy place to visit, since China “reclaimed” the country in 1959. The ongoing occupation means foreign tourists also need special permission to stopover, on top of the usual Chinese visas. The permits must be arranged via a travel agency, so we spent a few extra days in nearby Qinghai province ironing out the details. Qinghai is known for its stunning scenery — including China’s largest lake — and as the starting point for the railway to Tibet. This railway is the world’s highest, at one point reaching over 5,000 meters above sea level. Our carriage came equipped with extra oxygen to prevent sudden attacks of altitude sickness.
Qinghai Lake, China's largest body of water, sits high on the Tibetan Plateau
Although Tibet is dominated by China today, this wasn't always the case. In the 7th century, the Tibetans established an empire that covered Central Asia, including much of China. Tibetan armies controlled the Silk Road and even captured Xi’an, capital of the Tang Dynasty. As Buddhism trickled in from India, Tibet’s influence waned, but the country was still able to push back against China’s Qing Dynasty in the 1800s. In 1950, China pressured Tibet into joining the nascent People’s Republic, before finally sending tanks into Lhasa in 1959.
Xining Railway station, starting point for the Qinghai-Tibet railway
Since then China has maintained a stranglehold on Tibet, quashing dissent and restricting freedoms. To be fair, the Chinese have brought some infrastructure and prosperity to the region — case in point, the Qinghai-Tibet Railway — but it’s still difficult to watch ordinary Tibetans queueing alongside us foreigners at military checkpoints just to travel inside their own country. Meanwhile, Lhasa’s charming jumble of winding alleys and stone houses is filled with squads of Chinese soldiers carrying riot gear.
Our hotel, once a high-ranking lama’s home, was a stone’s throw from the 1300-year-old Johkang Temple, the epicentre of spiritual life in Tibet and old town’s city centre. We joined the masses of pilgrims walking clockwise around the temple to accrue spiritual merit. To get in, we had to gingerly step around the throngs of people repeatedly prostrating themselves in front of the entrance; our guide said they’ll be there all day. Inside, the air was heavy with the smell of yak butter candles, while monks rhythmically pounded on drums and pilgrims pushed by.
The Johkang Temple: the epicentre of spiritual life in Tibet
That afternoon, we stopped by the Sera monastery, a cluster of stone temples and buildings set into the hills at the edge of town. Every afternoon, monks gather in the courtyard for a theatrical debate, underscoring each point with claps and hand gestures. The number of monks living here has dropped from around 5,000 to just 600 today. The significant drop stems from new state quotas that limit — in Beijng's view — Tibet's traditional instigators of political unrest.
Monks debating at Sera Monastery, Lhasa
If you’re curious about the Party-approved version of Tibet’s history, don’t miss the Tibet Museum in downtown Lhasa. Visitors are treated to exhibits that patronizingly refer to the Tibetans as the nephew to China’s benevolent uncle. Nearby, Norbulingka — a pretty stretch of courtyard palaces and gardens — is where the Dalai Lamas traditionally spent their summer months. This is also from where the current Dalai Lama gave his bodyguards the slip and crossed the Himalayas into India. Since then, the Dalai Lama has become a cultural icon and a fierce advocate of Tibetan autonomy — making him Beijing’s enemy number one. He’s regularly denounced by China as a “splittist,” and it's now illegal for Tibetans to own his books or keep his picture in their monasteries or homes.
The gardens at Norbulingka, Lhasa
The Dalai Lama’s palace at Norbulingka feels like a shrine. We watched Tibetans prostrate themselves before his golden throne and leave behind offerings of cash, even in the bathtub. Some of the buildings still contain his belongings, including — heartbreakingly — a tricycle he rode as a child.
The New Summer Palace, Lhasa. Built for the 14th (current) Dalai Lama, It's from here that he escaped Tibet for India in 1959.
Meanwhile, the Dalai Lama’s winter home, the Potala Palace, dominates a hill in the centre of town. This architectural wonder houses gorgeous chapels, statues and stupas, including the ornate burial stupas of previous Dalai Lamas. The palace was built in 7th century, but it wasn't until the 17th century that the fifth Dalai Lama built its distinctive façade. As successive Dalai Lamas constructed new living quarters — leaving their predecessor’s vacant as a sign of respect —the palace expanded to its current colossal size.
The Potala Palace: Lhasa's architectural masterpiece
Later in our trip, we’d stay near the Tashi Lunpo Monastery, traditionally home to the Panchen Lama, the second highest lama (or monk) in Tibetan Buddhism, after the Dalai Lama. Usually the Panchen Lama plays a crucial role in determining the next Dalai Lama, and vice versa. In 1995, the current Dalai Lama supported the candidacy of a boy named Gedhun Choekyi Nyima over that of a Beijing-approved candidate. At age six, Nyima was abducted (along with his entire family) by the Chinese authorities, who then tried to pass off their candidate as the real Panchen Lama. Decades later, human rights groups still campaign for his release, despite China’s assurances that he's leading a normal life somewhere.
It’s easy to see why China (despite its own atheist stance) is keen to control these positions. Installing a pro-Beijing Panchen Lama, who would in turn pick a pro-Beijing Dalai Lama, would damage Tibet’s small but vocal independence movement. In turn, the current Dalai Lama — at 82 years old — says he may not reincarnate at all, or might do so outside of Tibet, denying Beijing the pleasure of appointing his successor. No one knows the outcome of this spiritual tug-of-war, but the result will profoundly affect Tibet’s future.
Tom Mountford