The new train service to Lhasa has flooded the Tibetan capital with Han Chinese tourists. They can be found in parts of the city that are predictable for any tourists - and in places much less predictable. At night they patronise Lhasa's so-called 'lama night clubs' - waltzing awkwardly alongside dancing Tibetans. In one such nightspot recently, a singer dressed in stunning nomadic regalia belted out a popular Tibetan song about longing for a precious bird - 'where did he fly to, why is he not here?' - a reference to the Dalai Lama. Han Chinese tourists lined up to present her with ceremonial hada scarves - an excuse to stand beside her for a quick photo. Cultural contrasts emerge from song lyrics. 'My heart is pure white,' sing a male duet; 'I miss my mother and father,' echoes another. That jars with Chinese popular-song lyrics such as: 'I am a bad girl' and 'I am not an angel' - blatant copies of American pop music. Is there a coded language in the music of these two cultures, which may be on the verge of assimilation or a clash? Chinese tourists are flooding into Lhasa for various reasons: to search for Shangri-la or their own Buddhist roots, or just to escape the devastatingly polluted and unpleasant cities. You can see them at the Jokhang Monastery, one of Tibet's most sacred pilgrimage sites. Tibetan pilgrims have traditionally prostrated themselves before its doors during the day - and some late into the night. In the past, you might have noticed the occasional mainland Chinese tourist or visiting cadre walk up to the doors, look cautiously around, and bow three times - before briskly walking away into the night. A few nights ago, a large group of Han Chinese gathered before the Jokhang's doors and meditated as a group for about half an hour. It was a meditation class, and their teacher had brought them there. Around the Jokhang is the Barkor street pilgrimage route, where Tibetans circle the monastery by prostrating themselves full-length, time after time. They always move clockwise, in keeping with Tibetan Buddhist practice. At night, Han Chinese taxi drivers commonly enter the pedestrian-only street, moving counterclockwise, which annoys Tibetans. Meanwhile, Han Chinese Buddhist tourists - towels wrapped around their knees and hands slipped into hotel slippers for padding - join the Tibetan pilgrims. Together they inch their way along the stone slabs. So, whose culture will change whom? Or will the two opposites create something new? That prospect may be acceptable to the Communist Party, in its quest for a new social morality - perhaps a balance between western materialism and traditional Asian spiritualism. Can cultural contrasts be overcome? 'The [cultural] differences are obvious during our Buddhist festivals,' commented Tibetan fashion designer Renzhen Deki. 'We Tibetans buy fish from the market and free them in the Lhasa River, giving them back a chance of life. Farther down the river, Han Chinese catch the same fish, bring them back to the market and resell them to us - knowing we will buy and free them again.' Balong Rinpoche, 24, is a high-ranking lama who speaks American-accented English and Putonghua. He represents a new generation of lamas with the potential to bridge these cultures. 'The lifestyle of monks here will be changed not just by Han Chinese, but by visitors from around the world,' he says. 'This is inevitable. 'At the same time, we will influence them. The question is whether these visitors take something spiritual with them when they leave. If so, then what we practise and protect here will not just benefit the rest of China, it will benefit the new century as well.' Balong Rinpoche then led me to the fish market, where we released over 1,000 fish into the Lhasa River. Laurence Brahm is a political economist, author, filmmaker and founder of Shambhala Foundation