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Looking over the Gyanste Monastery and town From the Chengdu Gonzo Field Office(continued) By noon, we approach the ramparts above Gyanste, a view that would convince any Dungeons and Dragons player he'd passed through a portal and could live out his dreams of being a level 12 cleric. The town is much smaller that the last, with only two main streets, each about 35 meters wide and primarily occupied by tractors, bikes, motorcycles and the odd yak. After stowing our bags in the hotel, we set out with Tesring. I weave through a mix of ethnic Chinese and Tibetians, some sporting backpacks with goat hooves popping out, to the monastery at the end of town. It's smaller than Shigaste, but the combination of bright sun and a general improvement in health made it quite magical to a westerner like myself. Our team roams the temple grounds and Pagoda-of-Many-Buddas before climbing the hill to visit a lonely building just below the kora (a large red perimeter wall surrounding the monestary).
Children in the streets of Gyanste The solitary building above the monastery seems to be a monks' residence. We pass through weathered wood doorways and through dark corridors, then climb steep ladders to the roof. Small alcoves with miniature fruit trees and washtubs house a dozen or so monks. A few tend to domestic duties, looking curiously at the group of westerners on an unannounced visit. A soft-eyed, cherubic monk beckons for me to follow him through a low doorway and I follow, eager to see what quarters are like in this alien world. The room has low ceilings of timber and mud and sports an organized clutter of rugs and prayer bead tapestries. I sit next to a white latticed window on a rough blanket with this monk, who cannot take his eyes off my shaggy stubble, since it is well past 5 o'clock. He laughs and then rubs his face to show he is amused at this difference in physiology between us. To check, he tugs my pantleg lightly to see the hair above my socks, and then offers his own in comparison.
Monk at the Gyanste Monastery He takes down a picture frame and points to a few photos, washed faintly by sunlight, of an older couple at a farming village somewhere in this vast land. After pointing and gesturing a while longer, my new friend takes my face in his hands and draws an increasingly startled me close, as if to whisper something. It appears he wants a kiss, and I skilfully convert the attempt into a hug. This man is human, with a very human desire for compassion and tenderness. I reciprocate in the form of a prolonged embrace, with all the love I can have for a monk in a country that has lost much of its identity due to its own benevolent nature. A short while afterwards, I offer a smile and signal it's time for me to depart and rejoin my team of intrepid explorers. Before I leave, my host takes a string of prayer beads off a squat Budda statue and places them around my neck. I fish out a short strand of cord with a twist of wire, place it over the Buddha, and duck under the doorway cover into the waning sun.
Lion outside the Gyanste Monastery Adam, Josh and I head to one of the kora towers with a team of three Dutch girls, cutting a large circle around three mangy dogs tethered to large rocks. I pick my way along a steep, narrow dirt path while sorting out the recent events in the monk residence. Does this change my feelings about Buddhism? Since last year I've propped up my belief in the need for kindness in all actions with words from the Dalai Lama, which in turn are from the scriptures of Budda. How does my strange experiece fit into this picture? I file it away for future contemplation as I puff up the hill to around 4,000 meters, indicated by my very expensive, shiny metal watch. We make it to the tower directly above the monk's residence and walk
across the half-meter-wide shelf running along top. Adam, Josh and I
cover about half of the entire structure's length, taking photos of
a distant monastery in the hills to the south and vacant ramparts above
Gyantse. After Adam and I get cliffed out in a tower without a way down, we take a dusty dirt path down to the white tiled plaza at the monastery's gate. I notice Simon's absence, and Adam remarks he hasn't seen him since he disappeared into a monk's chamber at the residence. After a few minutes, I come clean about my experience, and the boys give me a good round of heckling. Apparently, Adam had done the same thing, but his Christian roots got him out right after the pantleg routine. On the street outside the gates, we flag down an empty tractor and become a gringo parade through town to the hotel. Later on, Simon arrives at the hotel, and a good laugh is had by all as he requites an experience essentially the same as mine. Checking with our respective travel guidebooks, it becomes clear that Buddhist monks have historically had relationships with both men and women. As a French philosopher of sorts would tell me weeks later in China, it falls in that "gray area" of being human and living your life as you see fit.
Inside one of the dining halls on the bus ride to
Lhasa
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