Clary and her family and extended family run the Nirvana Hotel. Her husband is Tibetan and he, together with her young and beautiful daughter, and the Chinese and Tibetan staff, all add to the colour and interest that make Nirvana Hotel the special place that it is.
We enjoyed all of our meals at the hotel with Fiona, often joined by Clary and her husband. He comes and goes, in a yellow jacket, sometimes on a motorbike or in their 4×4 SUV. The feeling between the threesome is warm and loving, as their daughter switches easily between Dutch and English and Chinese and Tibetan. She arrived in her traditional Tibetan long skirt from school and paused to sip a spoon or two of sauce from her fathers’ bowl, whilst twirling his ponytail, hanging from beneath his leather hat, around her fingers.
I saw her another day, grinning and clinging to her mothers back, as Clary sped off to someplace on the motorbike.
Nirvana Hotel is like that – multicultural and multilingual and full of interesting people travelling through.
The next day L and I decided to revisit Labrang Monastery on our own. Fiona was staying in the backpackers and had many friends in the town.
The Monastery is huge, and there are tours on every day. We decided to find our own way and so we set off, walking some of the Kora, to begin with, and turned the wheels. After a while, we followed one of the paths into the centre of the monastery.
There are monks everywhere, walking singly or in groups. They stay behind huge wooden doors in ochre-coloured flats made from adobe walls. There are numerous large halls and temples. There are fascinating sculptures made from butter… there are places and sights seen within the walls that left us confused and yet peaceful about not knowing….
We were content with coming across groups of monks sitting outside in the sun together, some with cell phones out, some laughing, some within the confines of a temple doing a kind of martial art, with one blowing on a hornlike instrument. We stood silently and watched a pile of offerings being burnt, branches of a special tree, bought from stalls that were everywhere, carried strapped on the back of motorbikes, or in arms, or on backs, to be burnt together with soft silken white cloths and bouquet-like bunches of gathered strings of prayer flags. And all the while the incense rises.
At about 11 we began following monks. We had been told that at 11 every day the monks gather to chant – but we did not know where. Somewhere within the Monastery. We noted that the monks were appearing wearing their large spiral shell shaped yellow hats ( some new and golden, some faded and brown) and one or two older monks appeared with an instrument that looked like a metal scroll rolled up and they wore cloaks with very broad square shoulders. We followed them.
And there the monks were gathering, on the steps of the courtyard of a temple. We came in quietly and found a step to sit on in the shade. There were Chinese tourists next to us, who were standing up and posing in front of the gathering monks, flashing their cameras and getting really up close with the seated monks.
I am told that the monks sit out on the stairs to chant every day, no matter the weather. They shed their identical black boots and sit barefooted in their cloaks, even in freezing weather and snow.
We took a photograph or two from our seats and when the monks began chanting we could not resist recording a little. I was enthralled. Our Chinese neighbours told us that at 11.30 all the monks would pass into the temple beyond, which is what they did. Some monks came running, a little late, and just made it to their places on the stairs in time to shed their black boots. The boots remained scattered on the stairs when they all stood and moved into the temple. I wondered how easy it would be for each boot to be found by its rightful owner again.
We stood as well and followed them into the dimly lit interior of the temple. No photographs were taken from that point onwards. We stood against a wall and observed a number of different ceremonies. At one time some monks, carrying large brass urns, moved along the rows of monks seated on very long low cushioned benches and filled each of their bowls with a milky drink.
Inside the temple was dim, with pillars and ceiling covered and hung with fabrics that were a multitude of colours. The deep low chanting from the seated men continued unabated, while visitors from the outside circled the inside of the temple. Some Tibetans, dressed in outfits of glossy brocade, carrying large candles set in big metal candlesticks, prostrated themselves, and then led a slow path to where we could see the glow of many candles lighting up large golden Buddhas. Up front, we also glimpsed altars, strung with white cloths and incense and other offerings.
After a long time, L and I left via a side door. We were feeling tired and a little overwhelmed, and as we had no offering to make we did not make the journey around to the front with the other adherents.
Outside it had started to turn chilly and we set off on the long walk home, stopping at a monastery shop to buy a couple of boxes of Labrang incense. A monk served us and we paid him on our phone using WeChat. We took a photograph of the interior, not including him, as he had quickly ducked behind a thick curtain hanging over a back door.
On the way back to the hotel we asked permission from two elderly Tibetans to take their photo. They were seated wearily on some steps in the monastery and they sat still and silent while L took their picture.
Back at Nirvana, we felt hungry and so ordered a large amount of food. This time we chose a selection from the Tibetan menu, including a fried mutton dish and a sizzling platter of yak meat. It was all delicious, and when we were replete we retired to our room and slept for most of the late afternoon.