Tashi Lhunpo Monastery

The first thing you notice is the smell. Yak butter, warm and slightly smoky, drifts out of every doorway. Then comes the sound: the soft rattle of prayer wheels, turned by hand, again and again. Underfoot, the stone paths are worn smooth by centuries of slow, circling feet. Above you, gold roofs catch the high, thin light of the Tibetan plateau. Welcome to Tashi Lhunpo Monastery, in the city of Shigatse.

Take a breath. Then take another, slower one. Shigatse sits at roughly 3,800 metres above sea level, and the air here holds less oxygen than your body expects. Walk gently. The monastery climbs a slope at the foot of a hill, so every courtyard sits a little higher than the last. Locals move through it without hurry, and that is good advice for you too. There is no rush here. The buildings have waited a long time.

The story begins in 1447. A monk named Gendun Drup founded this monastery. He was a disciple of Tsongkhapa, the scholar who started the Gelug school of Tibetan Buddhism. Gelug monks are sometimes called the Yellow Hats, after the colour of their ceremonial headwear. Here is the first surprise. Gendun Drup was later recognised, after his death, as the first Dalai Lama. So the line of the Dalai Lamas, so closely tied to Lhasa, has its roots right here in Shigatse.

The name Tashi Lhunpo is usually translated as "heap of glory" or "mount of blessings". Look at the shape of the complex and the name makes sense. Whitewashed walls stack up the hillside. Deep red buildings rise between them. Gold ornaments and roof finials crown the highest halls. From a distance, the whole monastery looks like a single, layered mountain of buildings. Up close, it becomes a small town, with lanes, stairways, and courtyards that open suddenly in front of you.

This monastery is best known as the seat of the Panchen Lamas. The word Panchen means "great scholar". In Tibetan Buddhism, the Panchen Lama is one of the most senior spiritual figures, second in tradition only to the Dalai Lama. The title began in the seventeenth century, when the fifth Dalai Lama honoured his teacher, the abbot of Tashi Lhunpo. That abbot is counted as the fourth Panchen Lama, because the title was applied backwards to earlier teachers. He also enlarged the monastery a great deal.

Now, the hall most visitors come to see. Inside one tall building sits an enormous seated statue of Maitreya, the Buddha of the future. Tibetans call him Jampa. The ninth Panchen Lama commissioned the statue in the early twentieth century. It is made of gilded copper and rises more than twenty metres, filling the hall almost to the roof. You will probably have to tilt your head right back. Many visitors stand at his feet for a long moment, simply looking up.

Look closely at his face. The eyes are long and calm. The expression is gentle, almost amused. Maitreya is often shown seated with his feet resting on the ground, rather than crossed beneath him. This pose carries meaning. It suggests a figure ready to stand up and step into the world when his time comes. Around the base, pilgrims leave offerings: banknotes folded into cracks, white scarves called khata, and small cups of butter for the lamps.

Keep walking, and you reach the halls that hold the tombs of the Panchen Lamas. These are not tombs in the Western sense. They are stupas, rounded reliquary towers, often covered in gold and precious stones. Here is the second surprise, and a sad one. During the Cultural Revolution in the 1960s, the tombs of the fifth through ninth Panchen Lamas were badly damaged. Their remains were scattered. Much of the monastery suffered in those years.

Decades later, the tenth Panchen Lama gathered what remains could be found. He built a single shared tomb to hold his predecessors together. It was one of his final works. He died in 1989, here at Tashi Lhunpo, shortly after it was completed. His own golden stupa tomb now stands nearby. The question of who succeeded him remains contested to this day. Standing in these halls, you are standing inside a story that is still unfinished.

As you move between chapels, notice the light. Windows are small, so the interiors are dim. The main glow comes from rows of butter lamps, their flames trembling in brass bowls. Murals cover the walls in deep blues, reds, and greens. Painted deities, teachers, and guardians look down from every surface. Photography inside the chapels is often restricted, so you may want to simply stand and take it in. Your eyes adjust slowly, and more figures appear in the darkness.

Outside, look up the hill toward a huge, tall stone wall. It looks a bit like a blank screen, and that is almost what it is. During a summer festival, monks unroll a giant thangka across its face. A thangka is a Buddhist painting on cloth, usually small enough to hang in a home. This one is vast, visible from across the town. On ordinary days, the wall stands empty, a quiet reminder of the crowds and colour it holds once a year.

And do not miss the human life of the place. Tashi Lhunpo is not a museum. Monks in maroon robes cross the courtyards, carrying books, buckets, or bags of shopping. Pilgrims from rural areas arrive in traditional dress, some with prayer beads moving through their fingers. Many walk the kora, a circular pilgrimage path around the monastery walls. They always walk clockwise. If you join them, follow the same direction. Nobody will mind a visitor quietly moving with the flow.

Before you leave, find a spot in an open courtyard and stand still for a moment. Listen to the prayer wheels, the murmured chants, the footsteps on stone. Look up at the gold roofs against the wide plateau sky. This monastery has been destroyed in part, rebuilt, and kept alive by people who keep returning. As you walk back toward the gate, notice the smooth stones under your feet... each one polished by someone who came here before you.