#tsetang

Zedang, Tibet

Yumbulhakang, Tibet's First Palace བོད་ཀྱི་ཕོ་བྲང་ཐོག་མ་ཡུམ་བུ་བརླ་མཁར།

I've been seeing pictures of this building for years - the famous fortress like structure jutting out from the edge of a cliff to tower above the Yarlung Valley's fields, the first cultivated fields in Tibet's long history. 

We approached from the west to see the sun rising behind Yumbulhakang, and my first thought was that it was smaller than I imagined it, but it was every bit as dramatic as the pictures made out, especially in the early morning light. 

The structure has been rebuilt several times over the centuries, but the earliest palace here - and one of the first buildings in Tibet - was constructed way back in the 2nd century, when Tibet's Tubo Kingdom was centred in the Yarlung Valley. 

Inside is small and tight, but well planned to capture the light like a cathedral: the second 'floor' is not so much a whole level as a balcony that runs around the edge of the wall, leaving the middle open to allow light and air to flow through the building and illuminate the otherwise windowless bottom floor. 

The inside is mostly constructed of wood, colourful but faded with age. The murals tell stories of the first Tibetan kings, believed to be descended from heaven. I wish I could have taken photos inside, but the monks were very strict. 

Although I would love to see the area in summer when it's all green and bright, I'm very glad we didn't have to share the cramped interior with any other tourists on our visit. 

I couldn't help but be awed by how beautiful Yumbulhakang is, both inside and out, and it seems to be quite unique when compared to other palaces and monasteries that I've visited throughout Tibet.

After seeing pictures of it for so long I guess I expected that I might not feel so much - like seeing pictures of the Mona Lisa and then being underwhelmed when you see it in person - but I was totally wrong. A photo could never do real justice to the delicate wooden details of the inside of the palace, or the strong commanding position it takes over the valley below.

Now when I look at my photos I can remember the whole scene and the way I felt when I was there: standing like a king on the hill behind the palace, looking down at the fields and valleys that could have barely changed in the last nineteen centuries. 

Trandruk Monastery ཁྲ་འབྲུག་དགོན་པ།

Literally "Hawk-Dragon Monastery" ... How epic does that sound! According to legend a malevolent dragon spirit used to inhabit this area; it killed many animals and people and was a great cause of distress for the local people until King Songstan Gampo showed up one day. The King used his magical powers to take on the form of a hawk and after a long battle managed to finally kill the dragon spirit. 

This monastery also served an important purpose when it was built following the instructions of Songstan Gampo: it pins down the right shoulder of the ogress that is said to lie across the whole of Tibet. Through divination Songstan Gampo discovered that many of Tibet's problems were caused by this ogress, and the only way to subdue her and bring peace to the country was to build monasteries at key points of her body to literally "pin her down".

What defines a nation...?

Is it the people?

Maybe the culture?

Perhaps even the government?

This is something we take for granted in a country where we are free and governed by elected officials of our own choosing. We are the people, we elect our government, we live our culture. However, after spending a week in Tibet, a country heavily oppressed by it's Chinese neighbours, I cannot help but wonder.

In 1951 the Chinese government invaded Tibet. An army of 40,00 Chinese soldiers over ran the 6,000 strong Tibetan forces, before 'Liberating' Tibet from the fetters of freedom and self-governance. This process entailed religious and political persecution, causing the then leader of Tibet, The Dalai Lama, to flee the country in 1959, seeking refuge in Dharamsala, India. With the existing government removed and Chinese control now absolute, the area was renamed 'The Tibet Autonomous Region' in 1966. One year later, China began it's self styled 'Cultural Revolution'. In an attempt to rid the country of old modes of thought, the Maoist government began a program of deconstruction, purging Chinese territories of historical artefacts, buildings and scriptures. For Tibet, this meant that 75% of it's heritage was destroyed. Monasteries, temples, sites of religious pilgrimage were wiped away, replaced by cold utilitarian buildings more befitting the forward thinking regime. Once the cultural revolution had drawn to a close, the Chinese government relaxed its policy of deletion. Since then they have opted for a program of dilution, subsidising Chinese migration to the region. Religious buildings are reconstructed in the Chinese architectural style, and Tibetans are offered payments to have their traditional homes demolished, making way for Chinese new-builds. Visiting the post-revolutionary cities of Tibet is a surreal experience. Characterised by wide boulevards, tall regular buildings and meticulously clean streets, one could be forgiven for thinking that this sounds like a model of township. But the streets are empty. The buildings empty. Where there should be a pulse, there is cold stone.

Entering our hotel in Tsetang city, the atrium is lavish and spacious, but there is nobody there. One Chinese girl sits in shadow, at a marble desk big enough for six people. On the way to our room we see a handful of staff, but no guests. We venture out with our guide to find food. The buildings promise a vibrant and bustling economy, a city full of life, but look closer; they are unloved, disused, soulless.

The tourist centre of Lhasa, the capital city of Tibet, retains at least something distinguishable from the surrounding orthodoxy. Yet, the red and yellow flags which beset the city serve as a constant reminder that this is only so because it pleases the ruling party, who exercise careful control over tourism in the region. Tourists are not permitted to enter Tibet without a government appointed guide, who will accompany travellers throughout their stay. These guides are not permitted to talk about the Dalai Lama, or the plight of the Tibetan people, facing imprisonment if they speak out against the regime.

Prior to the Chinese invasion, Tibet was known as the home of Tibetan Buddhism, a rich tradition which permeated every layer of Tibetan life. In the wake of the cultural revolution, what remains is a distorted reflection of what used to be.

Monasteries house a handful of state appointed monks, responsible for collecting money and providing a show for visitors. They sit and chant as eager tourists gather round and take pictures at 20 Yuan a snap (equivalent to two English pounds). Once revered religious icons have been stripped and replaced with shoddy replicas in the Chinese style, stored in glass cases, and lit with coloured lights, like scenes from the Pirate Adventure at Drayton Manor.

Pilgrims from across Tibet gather to pay respect and slip money in to perspex donation boxes, in the hopes of gaining an auspicious rebirth in the next life. This money does not go to the monks, however, instead benefiting the Communist Party of China, who are painting over what little Tibetan iconography remains even as you read this blog.

So, what of Tibet?

Does it still exist?

Whilst the freedom to practise religion has been severely diminished, old Tibetans continue to practise their faith as best they can, and a semblance of Tibetan culture still lingers there.

In twenty, fifty years, though, I am not so sure.

The Chinese government continues their plans to wash away the spirit of Tibet. Children are not taught the Tibetan Language, monks are instructed not by Lamas and abbots, but by representatives of the Chinese government, and religious leaders are forbidden from teaching the Dharma to the Tibetan people.