Lhasa — it’s enough to take your breath away! This is not yet an advertising catch phrase for the so-called “Roof of the World,” but the typical view of those who reach one of the most fabled destinations in the East.

Today’s visitor should tread carefully. At 360m, the altitude leaves many new arrivals puffing and panting. Bloodcurdling dogs emerge at night whilst a touchy bureaucracy relishes impeding the progress of independent travellers.

Few Westerners managed to penetrate its formidable natural boundaries until the 1900s. The Chinese have made up for lost time by dragging the capital of “Tibet Autonomous Region” into the 20th Century. The last 10 years in particular have seen a painful transformation. Lhasa may well boast the world’s highest Beijing duck restaurant, karaoke bars and five star hotels, yet the allure of Tibet’s ancient culture has just about managed to hang on.

Its most famous landmark is the 17th Century Potala Palace. Perched on Marpo Ri, Red Hill, this is the largest and most imposing building in Tibet. Until 1950 it was the seat of Tibetan government and for the last century has been the winter residence of the Dalai Lamas, the country’s religious and political leaders. The current Dalai Lama is known not to have much liked its dark rambling interior, preferring the Norbulingka summer palace instead.

The Dalai Lama might like it even less today. As a vast museum with a myriad of halls, chapels and shrines, there’s an air of sadness about its silent chambers, nooks and crannies. Much of it is closed off whereas in earlier, independent times it would have been busy with monks and officials. Once crowded with squalid houses and narrow lanes at its foot, much of this part of old Lhasa was cleared three to four years ago for the 30th anniversary of Tibet’s status as an “autonomous region”.

Far less spectacular — and a little more down to earth — is the Norbulingka complex of summer palaces. Enclosed by walls and surrounded by gardens, the oldest of the three dates from the 18th Century. The Dalai Lama’s was built in the mid-50s and his private quarters remain as they were when he fled to India in 1959.

The most intact corner of old Lhasa remains the Jokhang, still very much the spiritual (as well as geographical) heart of the city. This, the holiest temple in Tibet, has been destroyed, rebuilt and renovated many times since the seventh century.

It remains a magnet for pilgrims and a place I returned to many times. Every Tibetan tries to come here at least once and many Lhasans seem to come every day. You’ll see them prostrating before its pillared entrance hall, humming prayers and mantras while clouds of aromatic smoke swirl about nearby stone incense burners.

Inside the dark inner sanctum, flickering yak-butter candles reveal numerous chapels, shrines and dozens of statues of Buddhas and kings. As with any Buddhist site in Tibet, visitors circle the complex in a clockwise direction, praying and bowing all the while. The upper floors boast fine views across the city. As yet, no shopping centre or revolving restaurant competes with the Potala to catch one’s eye.

Perhaps the most compelling show in town surrounds the Jokhang too. The Barkhor is a ritual circuit of this holy of holies and to follow the clockwise tide of walkers is to see a cross section of Tibetan life. There are ragged farmers from remote villages and stunning Lhasan women with elaborate turquoise headbands. The elderly plod by spinning prayer wheels or clicking rosary beads. Young men with red-braided hair stand around examining pieces of amber or coral. Spend any time in Lhasa and you’ll be drawn back to this spectacle time and time again.

It’s not unusual to find the most devout prostrating themselves along the circuit. You’ll almost certainly see police posts too, for the Barkhor has been a focal point for nationalist sentiment. Most visitors seem to find time to browse amongst the market stalls that line this route. You can choose from prayer wheels to knives, clothes to jewellery, brilliantly-coloured prayer flags and arcane Buddhist texts.

Central Lhasa boasts a number of other temples, nunneries and even a tantric college. Yet the most otherworldly sights lie on the city’s outskirts within walking or cycling distance. Drepung and Sera monasteries are amongst the region’s largest and most spectacular.

Founded in 1416, Drepung reputedly housed 10,000 monks in its heyday and weathered the Cultural Revolution’s turmoil better than most. Strolling warily past its notoriously snappy dogs (they are believed to be reincarnated monks!), I climbed through narrow lanes past a succession of halls and colleges. Up by the main assembly hall, there are terrific views out across the valley and you get a good sense of the scale of the complex.

I spent an afternoon wandering from one building to another, each with its own extraordinary atmosphere. For every gloomy interior there are impressive walls of frescoes and coloured brocades. Fierce-looking statues complement serene Buddha figures and the pungent smell of rancid yak butter fills every corner. You can even see the monastic kitchens where huge bellows warm massive vats under high sooty ceilings.

Six kilometres north of town, Sera is another large complex dating from 1419 and it’s said to have had 5000 monks. Like Drepung, things are rather more low-key today and several hundred monks occupy just three colleges. Its thangkas — elaborate religious paintings framed by silk brocade — are particularly good. Monastic debates, a stylised performance with much hand slapping, are held regularly in one courtyard and well worth trying to catch.

As with the Jokhang, every monastery has a kora or ritual pilgrims’ circuit and Sera’s is particularly good. The scenic two kilometre path takes one above and behind the monastery and into surrounding hills. Brilliant rock paintings of demons and deities mark each turn in the route.

From Sera I enjoyed further walks where fewer visitors go. Sera Tse and Choding are both ancient monks’ retreats, more of an excuse for an excursion than sights in themselves. Pabongka Monastery, perched on a massive boulder amidst barley fields, is another worthwhile goal. Its monks seem a particularly meditative lot and you might have to bang its wooden doors long and hard to get inside. You can even hike four to five hours to Samdeling nunnery, high above Lhasa, where almost a hundred nuns live austere lives, little-changed since medieval times.

Tibet’s’ hallowed capital has definitely suffered during the Chinese takeover of 1959, and again with the political turmoil of the ’60s and ’70s. Though current “modernisation” presents a more insidious threat, much remains to entice today’s visitor.

There are many things one shouldn’t do in Lhasa. As far as the Chinese authorities are concerned, you shouldn’t be there at all unless you’ve paid over the odds for the privilege. Don’t start rushing around to the many sights. At 3600m, Lhasa is breathlessly high and you could become unwell. Nor should one wear “Free Tibet” T-shirts, indiscreetly distribute Dalai Lama postcards or go near dogs. You must also beware of the intense sunlight which can quickly burn you and make a fool of your camera.

Lhasa, capital of the Tibet Autonomous Region, remains one of the most fabled destinations in the East. Until this century, few Westerners succeeded in breaching its formidable natural boundaries. Today, amidst shopping centres, karaoke bars, Holiday Inns and glitzy restaurants, Tibet’s ancient culture clings on against the odds.

A great starting point for any visit is the Potala Palace perched on Marpo Ri, or Red Hill, which dominates the city. No other Tibetan building matches its scale or magnificence. There has been a palace here since the seventh century, but the present structure was built about 300 years ago. Until 1960, it was the centre of Tibetan Government and the traditional winter residence of the Dalai Lamas, Tibet’s religious and political leader.

Today, the Potala is a vast museum with innumerable halls, chapels, shrines and the tombs of three Dalai Lamas. Many areas of the Palace are closed and it’s such a dark, rambling place you feel that no one person could possibly know all its nooks and crannies. Yet, for all it’s grandeur, an air of sadness hangs over the silent corridors. In better, independent times it would have been a lively place packed with monks and officials rather than tourists. Most of houses that once clustered beneath the Palace have been cleared away as part of the relentless Chineseification of the city.

For a taste of old Lhasa, head to the Jokhang, holiest temple in Tibet and still a magnet for pilgrims. Every day you can see them lying prostrate before its entrance and humming prayers. Behind, huge stone incense burners release swirling clouds of sweet smoke that enhance an otherworldly atmosphere.

The Jokhang began life in the seventh century and has been destroyed, rebuilt and renovated many times. Originally built to house two Buddha images —dowry gifts to King Songsten Gampo — it survived the Chinese Communist’s Cultural Revolution of the 1960’s and 70’s when many of Tibets’ temples were destroyed.

The main interest lies in its gloomy inner sanctum, a world of flickering yak-butter candles, chapels and dozens of statues of Buddhas and kings. Pilgrims circle the complex in a clockwise direction, praying, bowing and even touching the most revered images.

There are more shrines on the second floor but most people come here for fine views across Lhasa. You may also chat with monks, some of whom speak good English and have few qualms about expressing their views on the lack of political freedom.

Lhasa’s greatest human spectacle is on the Barkhor where pilgrims orbit the Jokhang along surrounding streets. Nowhere else did I see such a colourful variety of people. There are strong-faced young men from eastern Tibet, red braid in their hair, and country folk with faces that look like walnuts. Wealthier city women parade in their finest chunks of turquoise jewellry while the elderly plod along, hands spinning prayer wheels or clicking rosary beads. The most devout will prostrate themselves along the entire route with leather aprons or canvas sacking to protect their clothes and wooden boards tied to their hands. Despite being one of the capital’s holiest places, there are police posts along the circuit — usually a few stools under big umbrellas — as if the authorities are forever wary of trouble. This fascinating trail also doubles as a market and most trinkets and knick-knacks from prayer wheels to statues, knives, clothes and jewellry are sold here.

Two of Tibet’s largest and finest Buddhist monasteries are within easy walking or cycling distance. A profoundly religious country, monasteries lie at the heart of Tibet’s culture. We began at Sera, a complex founded in 1419, which once boasted nearly 5000 monks. Today only a few hundred busy themselves in three colleges. Sera has several buildings with a baffling variety of statues and stunning thangkas — religious paintings framed by silk brocade.

After watching monks debating in a courtyard (a stylised performance with hand slapping), I walked the monastery’s kora, or ritual circuit — a more scenic and tranquil version than that around the Jokhang. The two-kilometre path took me above and behind the monastic buildings, past exquisite rock paintings and into the hills. There are many good walks in the vicinity, most leading to sights which see few visitors. Pabonka Monastery, for example, is oddly perched on a massive boulder amidst sloping fields, whilst higher up and with excellent views, sits Sera Tse, a monks’ retreat.

Perhaps the greatest nearby monastery lies to the west of Lhasa. Drepung, founded in 1416, is reputed to have had 10,000 monks by the 17th Century and retains an extraordinary atmosphere. Situated higher up the slopes and with wide views across the valley, it is blessed with all the usual statues, smells and paintings but on a larger scale. I was intrigued by its kitchens where huge bellows warmed massive vats under high sooty ceilings.

We returned to Drepung for one of Lhasa’s great spectacles, the Shotun (yoghurt) festival. Usually held in the first week of the seventh lunar month (August), it was only in 1995 — after a gap of several years — that its celebration was permitted once more. Amidst all the mask dancing and worship at every shrine, its most significant event is the unrolling of a giant thangka in the hills.

Fact File: