#dartsedo

Up a gravel footpath on the outskirts of Kangding (康定) sits Nanwusi, our first monastery visit on the Tibetan Plateau.

I confess that generally I'm not one for temples. Without a personal background in religion of any kind, my experiences with holy sites have always teetered precariously on the fence dividing inquisitiveness from voyeurism. Also, a few months in China have further sullied the already tenuous relationship with an epidemic of cookie cutter commoditization--temple after temple twisted into ugly things devoid of any spirituality, toting nothing but cheap religious souvenirs.

But we were now on the Tibetan Plateau...besides, there was little else to do in town.*

One glance through the gold-foiled iron gates and it became immediately obvious that this was truly, finally, a place of study and spirit. A lone lama squinted sternly at a Tibetan journal, wholly ignoring our intrusion. I had become so used to stomping disgustedly through commercial monasteries that the real deal left me somewhat scared to advance.

The beauty of Nanwusi quickly dispelled my bashfulness: the brilliant red and gold buildings nestled into the lush, wisp-topped mountains; the gardens obviously nurtured with care; the delicate brushstrokes of the painter restoring the rooftop trim to even more glittering shades of gold; the stunning Buddhist artwork and idols; the fresh mountain air tinged with incense; the soothing hum of constant prayer. It was the most peaceful place I think I have ever been, and for an hour, we wandered the empty grounds in awe and appreciation.

A gong chimed, and monks and lamas flooded into the square, clutching their textbooks. They were happy to see us and eager to converse. (Of course, only 'Hallo!' was uttered in English.)

"Hallo! How are you?"

"Where do you come from? I am from _______ province. I came to Nanwusi when I was a boy because I wanted to study. My parents miss me, but they are very proud of me."

"In America, are there many Buddhists? I wish I could go to America and see for myself."

"Oh yes, I like my life here. Sometimes it is a little confined, and I wish I could see more of the world, but I am lucky to be learning so much."

"Do you like my shoes?!"

Turning to Meir, a veteran lama said, "It is a great pity that I do not know more English. I should have liked to converse more with you."

Such friendly, honest, innocent inquisitiveness I had yet to experience in China, and as we headed back down the mountain to colorless Kangding, I smiled in anticipation of traveling further onto the plateau.

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