Reting Wind

I was walking fast on the streets of Lhasa. Dusk was near. Vegetables, cup-of-noodles, sweet bread and snacks were packed in my daypack. We had just returned to Banakshol Hotel on Beijing Donglu from a three-night, four-day trip into the countryside. And we were getting ready to turn our heels back to where we had left this morning. Back to Reting, a Tibetan monastery on the side of a woody mountain that over looks a wide river valley.

The car used for the tour was a 20-year-old Toyota land cruiser. But the ride this time was by public bus. The Oxford student, Paul, who had joined us during the last four days, said he would return to Reting one day behind us.

We departed Lhasa's eastern bus terminal the next morning at 8. The bus, packed with Tibetans and Chinese passengers, followed the Lhasa River toward the east, then turned north along one of its tributaries. Eight hours later, we arrived in this other world after traveling through extremely rough road that made our asses sore. We carried our backpacks up the hill to the monastery from Reting village. The elevation is just over 14,000 feet and we were out of breath.

Reting Monastery once held an important position in Tibetan affairs. It is the home of the Reting Rinpoche, and also the place of the Regent. During the years when the 14th Dalai Lama was still young, the Reting Rinpoche, acting as Regent, was responsible for the state of affairs in Tibet.

It was also one of the biggest monasteries in the area. It hosted several hundred monks in what used to be a large compound, which looked like a smaller version of Potala Palace. Most of the monastery was bombed and destroyed by the Chinese Red Army in 1958. Now only few dozens monks live here, and the site remains largely in ruins. (The photo above was taken in 1948.)

The sparse accommodations are managed and operated by a few young monks in their twenties. Not many tourists visit here, but some pilgrims and a few travelers find their way. We took them by surprise when we reappeared a day after saying good-bye. They offered us their cheerful big smiles in a warm welcome hello. We offered eggplant and onions and they cooked us a meatless meal. As we waited for dinner, the only other sounds we heard were the rushing water below, calls of kites — small bird-of-prey — the whisper of the wind blowing down the valley and the faint sound of cowbells off in the distance.

Gracing the hillside stands a grove of ancient juniper, old and wise in their existence. If only they could tell the stories of their time on the mountain. Each tree it's own magnificent bonsai. Bonsai is an art of seeking common beauty between nature and man. However, these trees were grown without the intention to be beautiful. Instead, nature and the needs of man shaped then into their grand presence. There is a tender yet powerful energy that the trees and the land radiated here.

We took afternoon hikes to a nunnery nearby and a small gompa near the top of the mountain. Nuns served us yak butter tea and showed us their tangka paintings and a sacred statue of Reting Rimpoche. They enjoyed themselves while we made photos from the rooftop.

In the hilltop gompa lives a 55-year-old monk who lives there alone. It looks down towards Reting Monastery and the valley below. Kites soared by looking for their prey. A younger monk, tall, handsome and shy, lives a little higher up the mountain. In the simple and modest structure he maintains is a study and sleeping quarters for the Dalai Lama. The young monk's duty is to care for the place, awaiting the daywhen His Holiness will return to his homeland.

The young monks at the guesthouse befriended us during our second visit to Reting. Their curiosities were endless; digital camera, computer, English, and life in America. They also affectionately told us about their families. Besides their duty to run the guesthouse, they work to restore the monastery by building new guest rooms and furniture. They work cheerfully, often joking around and singing along to tapes of Tibetan folk songs or even groovin' to cheesy house music.

What attracted us to Reting were the young monks' bright, innocent smiles, the wind passing through the valley, and the great energy from the old juniper trees. We walked down to the village through the woods in the morning of departure, without saying farewell to the monks. While we waited for the bus, we heard the sound of cymbals prompting the beginning of morning prayers, followed by the sound of those Tibetan folks songs. Those young monks' day must have begun.