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Monday 2005-09-26 - Xiahe, China
Monks and prayer wheels
I decide to go walking around in the morning; first I go to the outside of Xiahe, along a road where I see no tourists at all, and then for a bit along the river from where I can get a nice view of a part of the Labrang monastery (Labuleng Si) complex. Apart from that and a dilapidated children’s playground which seems to be closed, there’s not much to see, so I turn back. I note a monk coming towards me, book in hand, softly mumbling, oblivious to his surroundings (including me): is he praying? When I pass him, I hear: “I have seven cousins.” (Of course, many monks are not only doing their religious duties but studying as well — including English…)
The rest of the morning I spend walking the famous Kora (the pilgrim’s circuit, also called Korla) all around the Labrang Monastery which is one of the six major monasteries of the Gelugpa Buddhist order. The Kora is all of 3400m long and counts no less than 1176 prayer wheels. I do the whole circumambulation, taking in all the little temples, too, circling all in clockwise fashion as one should. The only thing I do not do is turn all of the prayer wheels — I note not all of the pilgrims here do that either: some simply skip every three or four of them. Other people walking the Kora either ignore me, concentrating on their prayers and turning the prayer wheels, or are very friendly and smile at me. Walking around with them, taking in all the sights and sounds, the groaning of the prayer wheels and the tinkling of the little bells driven by some of them, is almost like a meditation: I find myself very relaxed after my 1.5-hour walk.
Fun with my camera
There is supposed to be an English-language guided tour through the Labrang monastery complex at Xiahe (which some of the group did in the morning) but when I set out after another hour typing up my blog in the hotel lobby I fail to find the entrance. Instead, I just roam around on my own, walking along the little streets and peeking into the smaller temples instead of the big ones. Again, people are very friendly and in these mostly narrow streets between the monks’ homes I see very few tourists. I’m taking lots of pictures, going into courtyards where I’m allowed (or beating a hasty retreat when I stumble into ones where I’m not).
At one temple courtyard I momentarily step outside into the shade of the gate to put a new film in my camera. An old man, having just delivered something, steps out just behind me to get on his bike parked in front of the steps but suddenly stops when he notices my camera and wants to hold it, almost grabbing it out of my hands. “Wait,” I say, I still have to finish putting the film in; then I hold the camera in front of his eyes. He peers through it, grumbling a bit — it takes a while for me to realize the lens cap is still on. When I take it off, a big smile appears on his face. Now his fingers are looking for the button: he actually wants to take a picture! Well, why not, I think, and gently guide his finger; he aims carefully, and presses. Now he’s laughing aloud of pure pleasure, pointing into the street where a motorbike is parked, two men beside it: that’s what he took a picture of! The men never noticed the little scene on the steps of the temple. Still chuckling, the old man thanks me, we laugh together and I thank him in turn, and he rides away on his bike. Then a young girl, having watched the whole scene from the side steps up to me and asks if she can have a look, too. Of course. That gains me another big smile; she thanks me politely, and disappears into the temple courtyard.
