Betsy Cribb '15

It is a gray July day in Kham, chilly and drizzling, but there are dozens of devotees circumambulating the mani stones at the local nunnery, turning each large gold prayer wheel as they pass. It is an auspicious day on the Tibetan Buddhist calendar, and on these days, more merit is gained per circumambulation than usual. There is no extra merit earned for circumambulating in the rain, but the devotees continue to walk around and around in the light shower, fingering their prayer beads and spinning handheld prayer wheels. Tori and I join them in their kora, zipping our raincoats and clutching point-and-shoot cameras. A group of weathered, ruddy-faced men with smiling eyes sit on a bench off to the side, taking a break from their circumambulation. Offering the little Tibetan we know, the words for hello—"tashi delek," we smile and point at our cameras, asking permission to take their pictures. They chuckle in disbelief, but nod their heads yes. Still grinning, the men hold up their prayer beads and prayer wheels for us. We take a few quick photos and lean closer to show them the images, which are met with surprised smiles and more chuckles. Even as we walk away to join the other devotees in the kora again, the four men, eyes framed by deep crows feet, are still laughing about our little interaction.

Central Tibet, however, is an entirely different story.

It is a gray July morning in Lhasa, too early for the sun to burn through the clouds, but there are hundreds of pilgrims and devotees circumambulating the Jokhang, the holiest site in Tibetan Buddhism. Foggy smoke from large incense burners fills the air; and devotees prostrate in front of the Jokhang, touching their foreheads to the ground in reverence and creating a steady buzz with their murmured chants and hummed prayers. More devotees wind around the outside of the Jokhang holding pitchers of melted butter to offer within the temple. We don't approach any of these people, though; it is nearly impossible to engage people in this sort of environment. There are uniformed police and military checkpoints on every corner and security cameras peeking out from every other roof. The bright red and yellow of the Chinese flag flutters from all the roofs; not a single building is without one, as flying the flag is law in the Tibetan Autonomous Region. Small vehicles loaded with large water hoses are stationed throughout Barkhor Square, discouraging self-immolations, which have become a common form of protest for Tibetans since the 2008 riots. If you're looking for a relaxing vacation destination, Lhasa isn't it.

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This summer, I traveled to Tibet with Professor Kerin and another senior, Tori Andrews, to conduct art historical research on devotees' engagement with Tibetan Buddhist shrines: what do the devotees bring with them to these shrines? What do they leave behind? What does devotional practice say about the current state of affairs in the Tibetan Autonomous Region, where the political identity has been contested since the Chinese government took control in 1951? Central Tibet, where Lhasa is located, is a difficult place to conduct research. Unlike Kham, a small, culturally Tibetan region of China's Sichuan province, where people live day-to-day with no noticeable presence of the Chinese government, those in Lhasa are subjected to serious surveillance. As Western tourists, we had to carry our permits and passports everywhere, just in case we were stopped at one of the police checks that dominate entrances to many monasteries; and outside of the city, we were required to travel with a tour guide 24/7.

Despite the challenges we faced—which also included an all-night bout of food poisoning, my second-ever allergic reaction, and a close call with a grumpy yak—I would go back to Tibet and do it all over again in a heartbeat. Tibet is a remarkable place, and traveling there shattered my preconceived notions about the romanticized mystique surrounding the country. With its holy lakes and dramatic mountains and cerulean skies, Tibet is enchanting, but Tibet is also in great danger of losing its old traditions and its rich culture as a result of increasing surveillance and outside control. Even still, I am hopeful: nowhere in the world is the spirituality of a people so evident, so tangible. And if the Tibetan people can keep the faith, so can I.