He came seeking enlightenment. He found a cow. Well, that's not the exact truth of it. He began by wanting to get away from town. Lhasa is a unique city built on a high, high plain surrounded by mountains. Tolkien wrote fantasy stories about cities like this where, except this city is modern and one has to look for the fantastic.
So, to escape the chinese clothing shops, buses, rickshaws and street hawkers, he took the number 503 5km north to Sera Monastary. This monastary complesx was like all the others, perhaps a bit smaller and perhaps a bit more work-a-day. Maybe five hundred red and orange robed monks lived here among the college buildings, triple storied houses and argued every day at the main assembly hall. The complex had the same sloppy white-washed walls with paint splashed all over and the monks lit the same yak-butter oil candles in prayer. But this place was tucked into the elbow of two hills that would qualify as mountains anywhere else. High above the Sera, built precariously on the edge of the northern hill there was another building. Its yellow walls stood out against the scrub brush of the hillside while the blue and white curtains could be faintly seen flapping in the breeze. He decided it would be his days adventure to reach this building.
He began on what seemed to be the only path leading from the valley to the north and up the hillside. As he wound his way up he passed cairns and prayer flags strung across the gullies washed out by seasonal rain. The path became fainter and eventually disappeared altogether. Looking down, he was at least 1000 feet about the valley. He decided the safest way lie up where there must be a path leading back down from the blue curtained monastary. Another hour of climbing, he picked his route to connect the prayer flags. This hill reminded him of the hills in Zion park in Utah. Easy to climb up, but dangerously steep and slick to descend. He was near a ridge about halfway up the hill. His path had led him to the western edge of the hill where he could view both sides of the valley that the hills divided. The way became steeper and he began to use his hands to climb. One last rock outcropping and he raised his head to the flattened ridge. A cow peered back at him cooly. He had climbed at least 2000 feet above the valley and this cow thought this nothing more than an afternoon stroll.
None the less relieved to find the pathway, he traversed the hillside to the east until the yellow walled building loomed above him. He called out, "Hello! Tashe-Dele!" He picked his way over crumbling rock walls that once housed a garden and climbed a small set of stone steps that led past the toilet area and to the foot of the building. Up a flight of irregular steps obviously laid by hand there was a door. He knocked and called out again. The wind fluttered the curtains in response. Then a small noise caught his ear. Looking up, a flat metal gutter jutted out of the wall of the second floor. A trickle of water came streaming out just then and pattered in the dry dust a few feet from him. No other sounds escaped the building. This gutter was not from the roof and it had not rained, there must be someone inside. He decided the rules of hospitality must be obeyed! He made his way to the back where the slope of the hill had been carved flat divided into stalls and gardens by the same crumbling rock walls. Before he could get a clear view or find a door, the stillness was shattered by the high pitched yap of monastic picanese. Startled, but undeterred, he continued forth. The unseen but continuous yapping was then interrupted by the low, throaty bellow of a tibetan mastiff. Deciding that the quest to find rabies immunoglobulin in Tibet was unappealing, he hot-footed it back to the front of the silent monastary.
He had come seeking adventure, enlightment on the mountain top, hot buttered yak tea with a true holy man. They had sicked the dogs on him.
