❝A TWENTY-NINE DEGREES NORTH LATITUDE, the afternoon entered Lhasa. After arranging the gear in the House of Shambhala, a family building converted into a small hotel, with all the charm, to which I always return, ate something and left quickly for the jokhang solo, the holiest of Tibet temples, without a guide this time, before the sky grew even darker.
Done all the koras, the one on the perimeter of the temple and those of the little chapels inside, I was extremely lucky, because the first time I saw it years ago, during the butter lamp festival, well into the month of December, there was no way to move from the crowd of pilgrims and also tourists who ran around inside, the immense luck, I said, yes, that the sanctum sanctorum behind the huge statues separating the prayer hall from the rest was opened for a group of Chinese Buddhists who were lavishing enthusiasm and alms.
Image of Jowo Shakyamuni, installed in the mid-7th century AD (details of semiprecious stones and brocades).
Afterwards only to see how the pious Chinese went crazy with their cell phones and asked with gestures and smiles for some complicity from the monk who drew back the powerful curtains of metal links (identical to those of Swayambú in Kathmandu), I couldn't resist taking out my camera and, although the poor lighting and some guilty conscience (signs reminding you that it is strictly forbidden to do so are watching you from different places) made it excessively complicated, I also took photos here and there.
Inside the Monastery of jokhang.
The flurry of images leaves me happy, like the ones I'm sharing above. For another occasion, I'll share the details of the ceremony in which we all participated: the monks, the Chinese, some Tibetans who had come by, and myself unexpectedly.●
