The mountain path from Maqu to Langmusi was magnificent even in silhouette, I only wish I had more daylight to see it — it was pitch dark when I got into town.

Langmusi town looked much smaller than what I imagined. One and a half street and that was all. Almost all the shops had shut the lights off, which made all the winter stars above the mountain peaks looked ever so bright.

I could very well be the only guest in the hotel, so the owner was particularly nice to me. It was almost surreal to enjoy a quiet night in the mountain in the luxury of a nice bed with clean sheets and heated blanket.

The next morning, I took an early morning walk to the monastery on the Kham side. Hardly any tourists come at this time of the year so nobody bothered to stay at the ticket booth. I just strolled in like any other Tibetan pilgrims.

The main stupa glittered in the sun. One old lady sat in the room pushing a big prayer’s wheel. The bell from her constant spinning sounded especially crisp in the quiet morning. Inside the main praying hall monks and lamas were having a lecture session. Their black cotton boots spread outside the courtyard. The bright orange walls with boldly decorated window frames caught my attention especially. In the highland plateau, sunlight must be the the most heavenly thing to worship, to me at least. And maybe that’s why the orange color? The door frames were also quite interesting, most contain the wooden carving of an elephant head. I’m not that versed in religious history to know enough about the significance of elephant in Tibetan Buddhism, but for people in a snow-covered world tower to keep that tradition around after so long, the elephants must be something particularly sacred.

Maroon-robed monks appeared here and there. Most looked really young, like teenagers. When the morning session was over at the main praying hall, young monks rushed out in groups to their nearby living quarter. One boy monk somehow stayed behind. I caught a picture of him looking up to face the oversized drapes with paintings of the Tibetan Eight Treasures.

The whole monastery looked too new to me.

At the corner of a small temple stacked a few abacus looking “device”, wooden frames with beads threaded through either a string or a small stick inside. I liked the weathered-look of them. Curious why they were there, I waited for some pilgrims to come over, and soon realized the purpose of them: a counter to remember how many circles people have walked around the temple. It’s quite important for the pilgrims to move in clock-wise direction. How they pushed the prayer’s wheel, the way they circle the temple, even their path inside the monastery. Me, on the other hand, often find myself on the a wandering path.

The highest building in the monastery is the residence of the living buddha. I tried to walk up but was stopped by a “Stop, Be aware of dog” sign.

Prayer’s flags in the thousands flapped in the wind on the high hill. I walked a small snow-spotted path to see them. Sky-burial site should be somewhere close by as well, though I didn’t intent to look for it. Small paper prayers littered the ground like snow flakes. Aimlessly, I walked the ridge following the prayer’s flags, enjoying my day among the mountains. I like Langmusi much better than the town of Zoige.