Potala Palace

We’d arranged to meet Annie at our hotel at 10 so that she could tag along with our guide for the trip around the Potala, so it was a little disconcerting when he turned up at 8.30, needing our passports to get hold of the official permits for the palace. As there wouldn’t be any other way for Annie to get in the Potala that day (tickets are limited), there was no alternative but to jog round to her hotel and get her passport. Fortunately, I didn’t have to get her out of bed and, passport secured, I ran back to our hotel, where we would now meet her at 9.30.
We all piled into the battered old Landcruiser that Annie’s group had driven to Lhasa in – complete with kamikaze driver – and motored down to the huge car-park at the foot of the Potala’s western face. Walking up to the front entrance, we passed hundreds of devout pilgrims prostrating themselves in front of the Dalai Lama’s official residence, as part of the huge Lingkhor kora, which encompasses the entire old town. From street-level, in the morning sunshine, the Potala seemed pristine and majestic as its white and red walls reflected the bright light. The sheer size of the structure is still impressive now, in a modern age of skyscrapers and concrete monoliths – imagine the effect it would have had on Buddhist pilgrims from Tibet’s rustic interior back in the 17th century when it was first constructed by the 5th Dalai Lama!
The steps up to the Red and White Palaces snake steeply up the huge ‘battlements’ that present a sheer white face to the lower structure. We were all forced to take our time as the hot sun and altitude combined to make the ascent a real task but, eventually, we arrived at the entrance to the main habitable quarters. From this point onwards, our guide had warned us to be careful of our conversation as the Chinese were reputed to have installed cameras and listening devices in most of the rooms. More than any of the temples we’d visited, the Potala’s architectural magnificence was its strongest feature. Not being a monastery or a holy temple, built as it was to be the official residence and administrative centre of the Dalai Lama, there was not an air of spiritualism or scholarly toil we’d associated with other sites. In fact, apart from the exterior appearance (one that didn’t necessarily stand up to closer inspection) there wasn’t a great deal of excitement about the Potala. Even the Dalai Lama’s official sleeping quarters had an empty, lifeless aspect to them and it felt like we were intruding on someone’s funeral. It was painfully obvious that the place was only open because the Chinese appreciated its significance to the tourist trade and there were certainly very few monks (real or otherwise) wandering its darkened corridors. Perhaps the one sight that might have given us cause for excitement would have been the view from the roof of the Red Palace, at the complex’s highest elevation. However, this was closed, due to restoration work and we were left to explore a too-familiar, succession of shrines in the bowels of the building instead. Of course there were more examples of beautiful artwork and statuary – some as grand and skilful as anything else we’d seen – but with that air of decay, none of it seemed to stimulate and Annie and I found ourselves passing through room after room at increasing pace.
We exited the building on the north side and sat waiting in the warm, midday sun for the others to emerge. We then made our way down the back access road at a more gradual gradient than our ascent and returned, a little disappointed, to the hotel and then out to lunch.
As a result of our disappointing tour of the Potala, we decided that we didn’t want to visit any more temples or monasteries – preferring, instead, to stroll around the Jokhang on the Barkhor circuit and soak up some of a more authentic Tibetan atmosphere. We all found some good souvenirs and gifts and I wavered on the verge of purchasing a huge, extendable religious horn. After the failure of my plan to get revenge on the residents of my neighbouring gompa in Kathmandu (with the airhorn that failed to materialise), I was thinking about giving them a real taste of their own medicine. I had a few practice blows on a horn that was every inch of 12ft long…and it gave out a most satisfying, resonant tone – one that would surely wake up a lot of monks at 2am! In the end, I couldn’t justify the expenditure for something that I’d, indubitably, end up leaving in Kathmandu as it was certainly too bulky and heavy to be lugging onto planes.
We went out for an early dinner in order to get to the ‘Chimay’ bar early, as our plan was to finish off their supplies of this fine beverage on a last-night bender. When we walked in, Tim and I were greeted with shouts of ‘Chimay!’ by the bar-staff and we really felt at home in our temporary local. They allowed us to choose our own music for the cd-player (from a very limited selection, we managed some Queen, Guns’n’Roses and Eric Clapton) and we were, again, the last to leave long after midnight.
We’d all enjoyed our trip together and made promises to stay in touch when we went our separate ways. In particular, I was keen to see more of Annie and I was only too happy to offer to show her around Kathmandu when she returned on Saturday, after taking in a little more of Tibet. I’d explained about my soon-to-be-over involvement with Anna and, with a clear conscience on my part, she didn’t seem to object too much when I kissed her as I left her at her hotel ;-). I was fascinated by her and excited about the prospect of spending more time with her…perhaps there would be some way to extend this beyond a weekend in Kathmandu…but only time would tell.