On going to a holy city

Sonam Gyatso, the third Dalai Lama (16th-17th century sculpture at the Hermitage Museum)

I have this vision in my head of lying in an open field. A brilliant, blue sky playing home to a clear sun fills my eyes. Jeff Buckley is singing his hallelujah and the grass is swaying in time to an oh so surreal voice.

This is my mind's version of the Tibetan valley I'm going to be seeking out.

Two things stand in my way:

1) No electronic music thing to play said singer.

2) Yaks. I hear they are everywhere. While I like the look of a majestic shaggy beast just as much as the next traveller - I do wonder what they'll get up to when they see a traveller or two lying in the middle of their grazing territory. Maybe yaks are quite hospitable?

On on alternative note, I'm going to be encountering first hand a religion, a culture, a people which have kept me in awe ever since I was a little girl. The anticipation is almost painful. This is a moment of a lifetime and I can hardly wait until Monday to touch down in Lhasa, one of the holiest of holy cities.