Society
Old soul meets new face on Barkhor pilgrimage path
(Xinhua)
Updated: 2011-05-08 13:38
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LHASA - As the first beam of morning sunlight hits the tops of the flagpoles in front of Lhasa's Jokhang Temple, Drolma Lhamo begins her daily ritual walk along Barkhor Street.
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For Drolma Lhamo, the street has changed considerably since the 79-year-old first began walking there with her mother as a child.
Stone pavement has covered a previously barren earth road, and street lamps now light the street's dark and narrow side alleys. Signs hanging in front of stores are written in a mix of Tibetan, Chinese and English.
However, in front of the 1,300-year-old Jokhang Temple, pilgrims are kneeling to the ground and praying in much the same way they did centuries ago.
Among them were grandmothers in traditional robes, middle-aged men coiling their plaits on top of their heads and teenagers wearing jeans. Some of them live just five minutes away, while others have traveled all the way from neighboring provinces. Many of them have been standing in line to enter the temple since before dawn.
Drolma Lhamo was born and raised in a traditional-style courtyard located on one of the 35 labyrinthine lanes leading to Barkhor Street. This area used to be a major residential district in old Lhasa.
"When I was a child, the courtyard was larger, but the buildings were also much more shabby, with mud walls and rough wood pillars. There was no electricity and we shared a well in the yard," she recalls."I remember the courtyard was owned by a temple and the families living here rented rooms from them."
Today, the three-floor buildings enclosing the courtyard are gleaming with windows framed by black and yellow trim. Some families have grown brightly-colored flowers on the balconies facing the yard.
In 1994, every home in the courtyard was equipped with electricity and tap water access. Although there used to be just one public bathroom for the entire courtyard, there is now a bathroom on every floor of every building. Many of the courtyards around Barkhor Street have undergone similar renovations since 1979.
Last year, the local government decided to restore and rebuild 56 of the most well-known courtyards. However, even these refurbished homes cannot compete with the newly-built modern apartments in the city's younger areas.
"Most of my old neighbors have moved out. At least half of the neighbors now are small-business owners and migrant workers," Drolma Lhamo says.
She doesn't want to leave the area, even though her children keep asking her about it. "I'm used to the life here. It's really convenient for me to do my ritual walk," she says.
Returning in another way
As the sun rises higher and early birds like Drolma Lhamo head for a cup of tea at a nearby teahouse, more Lhasa residents flood onto Barkhor Street for the ritual walk.
Losang Tashi, taking a wood rosary in his hand, joins the walking crowd. He has just driven his son to school. Like Drolma Lhamo, Losang Tashi grew up near Barkhor Street, but he and his family have moved to a new house in the suburbs.
"When you get more money, you want a better life, with a private bathroom and a parking place," he says. "But I only feel at home on Barkhor Street."
He has returned to the area, in a sense, by operating a boutique hotel built into one of the courtyards, just 500 meters away from his childhood home.
The 300-year-old courtyard was owned by Ling Rinpoche, a monk and teacher of the 13th Dalai Lama. The courtyard is now government property, but Losang Tashi has leased it from the government for ten years.
"We invited artisans from the Trashihunpo Monastery in Xigaze to restore the courtyard to its original look. It took us a year, based on a blueprint from the 1930s. Every change must be approved by the cultural heritage department," he says.
All of the building's stone walls remain intact, and the position and number of the building's windows and doors have not changed. One room was slightly modified to make it suitable for serving drinks.
"As an old Barkhor resident, I would like to see the street maintain its original appearance. Changes cannot be avoided, but in what ways can we change?" he says. He regards running the small hotel as his own way of protecting the old courtyards.
Changing business climate
Although Barkhor Street is a very sacred place for Tibetan Buddhists, it also has a worldly aspect. It has been the commercial center of Lhasa for centuries.
When the sun hits its peak at mid-day, the street is packed with traditionally-dressed shoppers from the countryside and tourists wearing fashionable coats and sunglasses.
In Drolma Lhamo's memory, horses carrying bags of black tea from neighboring Yunnan Province were a frequent sight on Barkhor Street in the 1930s and 1940s.
The horses have completely disappeared, now that Tibet is linked with the rest of China by planes, trains and automobiles.
Small stores selling daily necessities have been replaced by souvenir and antique shops, galleries, restaurants and cafes. Tourism has boomed since the 1980s; about 6.85 million people visited Tibet last year.
Ratna Kumar Tuladar's shop remains in the same place where his grandfather opened his shop in 1925. The business itself, however, has changed a lot.
His grandfather sold Nepali food, clothes and spices, whereas Tuladar sells Buddha statues and Nepali jewelry. His grandfather exported Tibetan wool to Kathmandu; Tuladar sends clothes and porcelain made in eastern Chinese provinces.
"Barkhor Street has changed a lot since I arrived here to take over the shop 26 years ago," Tuladar says.
He no longer needs to wait for a month or more to receive goods from Kathmandu by horseback. It takes just one or two days by highway.
"Decades ago, there were only Tibetans and a few Nepali running businesses on Barkhor Street. Now, we have people from everywhere. Tibetans, Muslims and Han people," he says.
The competition is also much heavier than it was during his grandfather's time. "Decades ago, profits accounted for 50 to 60 percent of total revenues, but now only account for 10 to 20 percent," Tuladar says.
However, Tuladar wants to carry on the family business and even plans to open a bigger shop to sell Nepali artwork in Beijing.
"The market potential is still big," he says.
Compared with Tuladar, Drugla is a newcomer on Barkhor Street. She left her hometown of Dege in neighboring Sichuan Province in 1987 and sold antique jewelry collected from households in the countryside.
At first, her stall was a simple blanket spread out on the ground, but now she has her own covered booth.
"My clients were mainly foreign tourists 20 years ago, but now, a majority of them come from other areas of China," she says.
She admits that antiques are very rare now, and her goods are mainly new jewelry made in Nepal or the coastal regions of China.
"Small business, thin profits," Drugla complains. "The booth rent is high."
However, she has obtained a permanent residence certificate in Lhasa and bought a small apartment there. She plans to send her son to a high school outside of Tibet, with eventual plans for college.
"I would like him to have a good education and find a stable job, since I haven't been able to," she says.
The strong afternoon sun makes her squint in her westward-facing booth. She wears a large hat and sits with her back to passersby to shield herself from the sun.
Not far away from Drugla's booth, Li Ou complains about a lack of sunshine inside her small jewelry shop, located deep in one of the street's side alleys.
On her worktable, there are boxes of gems of varying qualities and colors. She designs all the jewelry in the shop herself.
"Tibet inspires me. People here have a long tradition of making beautiful designs and are good at picking out different colors of stones and gems," she says.
In her hands, a piece of iron from an old saddle found in the home of a nomad can become a bracelet.
Li arrived in Lhasa six years ago after graduating from a fine arts college in Sichuan. After taking several jobs, including a position as an assistant in an art gallery, she opened her own shop last year.
On Barkhor Street, there are dozens of young people from outside of Tibet, just like Li. They are largely satisfied with their small businesses and simple jobs, and spend a lot of time soaking up the sun in front of the temple or chatting in teahouses.
"Running the shop is done for my own survival, rather than to make more money. I want to learn more about Buddhism and art in Tibet, create my designs and live a simple life," Li says.
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