A congregation of more than 5,000 people has gathered in a former lighting warehouse in Etobicoke, on the outskirts of Toronto. The floor is concrete. The corrugated-metal ceiling is low. The mood is wet.
At the far end stands a glittering altar of three enormous, golden Buddhas, with a throne and a gentle sea of monks at its foot. The 14th Dalai Lama, leader of Tibetan Buddhism and of the Tibetan government in exile and a 75-year-old celebrity of spiritual and political proportions, has yet to part a velvety curtain.
What pilgrimage to enlightenment is supposed to be comfortable? This one, to the Tibetan Canadian Cultural Centre, feels like an unfortunate trip to the mall. At this point, anyway.
I arrived at 7:30 on a Sunday morning to a hive of yellow-jacketed police officers waving hands at congested traffic in the low light. Parking arrangements were unclear. It was pouring. Long, snaking lineups of e-ticket holders stood in the rain to get a proper security pass from volunteers under tents. My cheap Burberry-knock-off umbrella collapsed. A sign to renounce trendy material trappings?
“Please be patient,” a volunteer exhorted through a megaphone. After receiving the tickets, we have to go through another long line in the rain to pass through metal detectors. “When you get inside, you’re gonna be very happy!” he exclaimed. A ripple of fleeting smiles swept through the masses.
The crowd is composed mostly of Tibetan Canadians, many of the women in long dresses, tiptoeing gingerly over puddles in open-toed sandals. The rest possess an alternative vibe: flowing clothes, dreadlocks, long hair, Birkenstock sandals. Not a pair of chinos in sight.
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