So it is regarded as Southern Chinas mostrevered monasteries, the largest in Yunnanand is 85 Yuan to visit. Excitement for the 1618 built Zhongdian highlight dims slightly while cueing in the rammed ticket office, which is a huge palace sized money launderer in itself. As I disembark the tourist bus my first endeavour is to avoid the crowds. Like a mob a chinese tour group will storm the main attraction so opting to walk away from the walled grounds and complete a circuit of the palaces lake provides some respite. Despite several signs I find myself walking against the flow and realise I am offendingthe tradition of circumnavigating a holy building clockwise. Even while driving, should a stupa appear in the road, there are separate lanes to allow proper navigation, the whip lash is just a bonus. Embarrassed I take some quick photos and retreat, en route scaring an old ladies cattle through a gap in the fence as she frantically tries to prevent them.

Hundreds of steps path the way to the Gedan Songzanlin Monastery, staggered on either side are mud-brick houses which serve as a base to heighten the grandeur of the towering blocks of colour, topped with their sparkling golden rooves. It is a spectacle, especially if you ignore the crane and scaffolding amongst the right flank. At 3500m it takes a wee bit of huffing and puffing for some to climb although I nearly had a fit when I saw a woman in high heels sucking on a large hairspray style bottle of pure oxygen. These cans are readily available in all Zhongdian supermarkets.

Standing directly beneath the temple curtains, parted to allow access, the inviting waft of incense and protection from the winds calls you inside. Then a megaphone cuts through the spiritual air like a chainsaw through the forest and the umbrella parade which follows ensures that the destruction of enlightenment is complete. The butter lamps burn incessantly while guides try to whisper to their mob how to worship. I take deep breaths, try to silence my thoughts and calm the ripples that ruffle my peace. Yet I cannot stop this nagging feeling that I've engaged in more spiritual progress while taking a dump. Escaping to one side there are person free areas where you feel touched by the monasteries former glory.

Returning on the shuttle I cling to the beauty I have seen rather than the feelings I have had ruined, but it is as if the visit is destined to wholly stale your soul. The bus pulls to a halt and you are warmly beckoned into shelter from the heavy rain. I filter with the others into a brightly lit hall full of glass cases that can sell you as authentic traditional trinkets as my Thai Ray Bans, its like being back at the fun fair. Still mocking this on the way to the bus station I board the number 3 back to old town only to slide straight off my seat and onto my ass in front of a hoard of monks, Karma? Maybe.