I knew Tibet’s lunar new year, Losar, would be something special, but nothing could prepare me for the spectacle that ensued. I can still feel the echo of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Sarah and I had waited patiently in the Barkhor Square with some fellow travelers and Tibetan friends for evening to fall. There were squads of jing cha patroling the area, as well as a fire truck clearly on stand by, yet all was quiet. Then, according to some unspoken cue, Lhasa erupted.

Throughout the city’s maze of alleyways, small sparklers and hand shells were being fired. We ducked into a narrow street to get a closer look - just as things got interesting. One after another, the rat-tat-tat machine gun of chains of firecrackers rang virtually non-stop in our ears. Someone had set a small pile of rubbish ablaze in the middle of the street. Tibetans emerged from their homes to add fiery armfuls of cardboard and straw - attempting to burn away their troubles in the coming year. More lengths of firecrackers were tossed into the mix, violently exploding within the raging inferno.

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The heavier ammunition was slowly brought out, and Lhasa lit up in a riot of colors. Fireworks as impressive as any I’ve seen in the US blanketed the sky in every direction. The smoldering remains of exhausted explosives were now steadily raining down, forcing observers to seek cover. Billowing smoke from both fire and fireworks were making it difficult to breath. So this is what a war zone is like.

Yet a war zone this was not. We could just make out beaming Tibetan faces through the haze, and every now and then a delighted scream would pierce the cacaphony when a child danced too close to the pyrotechnics. The atmosphere was simply electrifying and you couldn’t help but be swept up in this unbridled expression of joy.

Perhaps most amazing, is that this is only the first night of the festivities. I can’t fathom what other kinds of new experiences the remainder of Losar has in store.