October in Amdo, Part 1

Chinese National Day is a magical time. Contrary to the name, it’s actually a week long, and with a little bit of class rescheduling I was able to get that up to 8.5 days. Figuring out where to go wasn’t even really a decision- I knew it was time to get back to Labrang, where I had planned to spend a few weeks this summer before the visa fiasco reared its ugly head.

The area I did end up visiting this summer is called Kham, one of the two major regions of Tibet separated from U-Tsang (sometimes referred to as Central Tibet) by Chinese redistricting in the 1950s. I spent National Week week in Amdo, the other victim of Chinese cartographers. Today most of Amdo falls into Qinghai province, with the rest lying in parts of Gansu and Sichuan. Culturally, linguistically, and ethnically it’s one cohesive area, but if you looked at a Chinese map you’d never know it. Famous Amdo Tibetans include Tsongkhapa (the Martin Luther of Tibetan Buddhism) and the current Dalai Lama.

Originally we had a group of 6 people ready to go, but when we reached go time we were down to three- two other Americans I met through my friends and myself. We ended up getting along pretty well, which is good because we were in close quarters the entire time and other foreigners were few and far between.

The departure from Wuhan was a hectic dash from my last class on Thursday back to my apartment to pick up my things, and then a cab ride to the new Wuhan train station. By the time I woke up on Friday morning the landscape had changed from the Yangtze River area near Wuhan to the loess plains of the Lanzhou and south-eastern Gansu. It was still pretty green, as a picture through the dusty train window shows:



On arrival in Lanzhou we wasted no time in getting on to the bus station. Lanzhou doesn’t have much of note besides an outstandingly filthy horizon, practically brown in the afternoon sun. The one real draw is Lanzhou beef noodles, which are hand-made in the restaurant and put the imitations found across China to shame. Upsettingly delicious.

The original plan was to hop in a bus and go straight to Labrang, but National Day struck us for the first time. Throngs of Chinese tourists had already bought out all the Labrang-bound tickets for the day, and the ticket office was one or two shouting people away from being a legitimate riot. I felt lucky to snag tickets to Hezuo, the capital of the Southern Gansu Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture. Just an hour from Labrang and three hours from Taktsang Lhamo, it would do.

I’ve actually been curious about Hezuo ever since last year, when I almost accepted a job at a college there. It’s downright tiny by Chinese standards, with 90,000 or so in the municipal area. It proved a pleasant place, with a wide central square featuring this enormous yak statue:



Getting a hotel was a bit of an ordeal- we went from place to place being told that they didn’t accept foreigners. Finally at a business hotel north of the square I answered the apologetic “we aren’t licensed to accept foreigners” with a “well we won’t tell the government if you won’t!” That did it- a room was secured off the books. It was a nice room, and the only twist came when we were walking out of the room to check out the next day- we opened the door to see a policeman walking down the hall. The door was quickly shut, we occupied ourselves quietly inspecting the finer details of the room for ten or fifteen minutes, and then we carefully snuck out of the place.

The number of monks ambling around town got me curious about Hezuo Monastery, called Tso Gompa in Tibetan. It was supposedly the most beautiful monastery in the area before the Chinese army arrived, but it’s lagged behind others in rebuilding. As far as I know it only had ten or twenty monks just a few years ago, but this time it was noticeably bigger than it was when I last passed through in late 2008. A monk on the grounds said that these days the numbers are recovering and that there are currently 160 monks in residence. There were quite a few pictures of you-know-who in the temples:



A butter lamp in one of the chapels:



After checking out we secured tickets to Taktsang Lhamo, coming up tomorrow.

Escape from Wuhan: The End

A few last pictures from across the trip:

The grassland:




One more angle of Zhonglu:



Three girls who followed us from store to store during our massive robe and mask buying expedition, shouting "hello!" and following up with "ok!" whenever we acknowledged them:



Corn drying in Zhonglu:




In Suopo village, the only way to get up or down were these crazy ladders- just a single log:



Assembly Hall in Ani Gompa:




Yak skull on the wall of Jya Drolma's:




A painted prayer wheel at Lhagang Monastery:

Escape from Wuhan: Part Six

Our next stop was Zhonglu village. Our driver took us further down the road, which wound along the river underneath the steep mountain ranges. Turning off from the main road, he drove up an incredibly steep, switchbacked path. After about ten minutes of blasting up this road, the vertical climb gives way to a large bowl, halfway up the mountain. From below you wouldn't even see the place, but Zhonglu is actually pretty huge. Here's one random corner:



The view from the edge of the road up to the village, across to other mountains and villages:



The driver said he would give us about two hours to wander around, and then make our way back to the center. Truth be told, you could easily wander around Zhonglu for days. We struck out along a random path, working our way up past fields of corn, stone houses and yet more towers:



Like Hangzhou's West Lake, it was an almost unbearably pleasant place. Idyllic, even.



We didn't see any other tourists the entire time we were there- just locals, who were picking sichuan peppercorns from bushes on that day. I'd never seen them fresh here, as they're normally sold dried. We each ate one, learning that their numbing properties are much stronger when they're fresh. I couldn't feel the left side of my mouth for 10 minutes.



The path between the fields, temporarily blocked by this bull:



It's pretty easy to set up homestays in Zhonglu, where local families will give you a bed and a few meals for very low prices. I was really tempted, but unfortunately we couldn't figure out any way to do that which wouldn't also entail spending another night in awful Danba town, from where buses only leave very early in the morning. The hostel we stayed at in Danba was the worst place I've ever stayed in China, with no AC or fans to help with the heat. We ended up leaving the door and window open to get some air flow, but that in turn gave us mosquitos and the sounds of Chinese highway traffic blasting into our room all night. On to Chengdu!

Next time: some more pictures from all over.

Escape from Wuhan: Part Five

After a few days in Tagong we arranged a ride to our next stop, Danba. They didn't have anything big enough for our group, so all 8 of us had to squeeze into a little van. No problem though, right? The roads had all been in great shape so far.

Wrong. It turns out the government decided to rebuild the road between Tagong and Danba- all at once. So the entire 4 hour trip was taken in a shock-less van that left us all feeling shaken and nauseous. The ride otherwise could have been pretty pleasant. After leaving the grassland the road goes through thickly forested mountain valleys, with plenty of scenic views:



A stream running beside the road grew over the course of the trip:



Becoming a full fledged river by the time we reached Danba town:



About Danba- it's the biggest town in the Gyalrong region of Tibet. Known for mountain villages, beautiful ancient homes and tall stone towers, Gyalrong is also a lot lower than most of the rest of Tibet, leaving it much warmer and capable of growing tons of corn. Danba town was fairly lackluster, and our hostel was so awful that we all started plotting our return to Chengdu minutes after arriving.

Luckily, we stuck around for a day. The whole point of Danba is to get out of the town and into one of the many villages nearby, which constantly win awards as the most beautiful villages in China. Inhabited by Tibetans and the Qiang, a Tibetan-related minority in the region, we ended up seeing two of them. Suopo was the first.

Our driver took us about ten minutes out of town, then pulled onto a dirt road and stopped beside a bridge festooned with prayer flags:



As we got out the driver told me that we should cross the bridge, walk about twenty minutes uphill, and there we would find Suopo. Before we could make it that far a native of the village approached us and offered to show us one of the homes and one of the towers for ten yuan a person. Sure, why not?

The towers, though, were crazy. Built by the Tibetans and Qiang from 800 to 1200 years ago, these tall structures bewilder everyone who comes to study them. No one can figure out why there are so many- over 100 in little Suopo village alone, and thousands across Gyalrong and two other small regions. What were they for? Your first instinct is to say they were supposed to serve as watch towers, but if that's the case the vast majority of them are redundant. In some pictures I caught five towers all next to each other, not a quarter of a mile between the first and the fifth. Some might have been defensive, and others might have been for storing food, but that still doesn't really explain the sheer quantity of them. When we arrived at the house I took a picture of this tower, framed by one tower on the left and one tower on the right:



Another one:



The house he showed us hasn't been restored, and on the inside he pointed out what various rooms were used for:



This was the shrine room, with the paintings on the lower cabinets clocking in at over 600 years old:



Another house, this one restored and lived in by a local family:



On the way back down our guide was kind enough to give us some apples from his orchard:



From there we went to Zhonglu village, which ended up being one of the highlights of the entire trip. Pictures and details next time.

Escape from Wuhan: Part Four

The next morning we asked Jya which direction she recommends for a grassland hike. She said a good one was to walk out of town past Golden Spire Monastery, and then head towards the distant mountain and gleaming roof of Ani Gompa, an enormous nunnery. She also said something about it having a "mani gorge," which bewildered me at the time as I tried to translate from Chinese back into English. Mani stones, carved with Tibetan script, are frequently left in piles or occasionally built into long walls- but what is a mani gorge?

We followed her advice, walking past Golden Spire Monastery and towards the distant mountain, which remained our guide over the 4 hours we would spend hiking:



A few minutes out we had to cross this stream, which was easy enough but extremely cold even in the middle of August:



Beyond that it was just a huge expanse of grassland:



And more grassland:



Occasionally there would be a fence or two that would need hopping, but they all seem to have been built to contain livestock, not to keep people out:



The grass itself:



Finally we arrived, to find a festival in full swing. Tibetans were being dropped off by the tractor-full in front of this tent, where real and fake flows and Tibetan music made the whole place feel surreal after hours of nothing but green grass and blue skies. I tried asking what exactly was going on, but answers would start in Mandarin and then trail off into Kham dialect Tibetan:



The prayer flag vortex and flag covered hill next to the tent:



A wall topped by miniature stupas:



Right up the road from the tent we found the mani gorge. Smaller tents containing craftsmen line the way up to it, where they'll carve and paint prayers into stone. Pilgrims buy these:



And then give them to the temple, whose walls are made of stacked mani stones- I assume this building has been slowly growing up for some time:



Everyone we ran into was extremely friendly, giving the Tibetan greeting of "tashi de-le" if you so much as glance in their direction. By this point we were pretty much beat, though, so we jumped into a truck that whisked us back to town. Recovery from the hike, for me, came in the form of a yak pizza, expertly crafted by the two Tibetan women who run Sally's Cafe.

Tomorrow- Danba.

Escape from Wuhan: Part Three

Lhagang!

Also called Tagong in Chinese, Lhagang is a tiny little town in the middle of the grasslands. It's relatively high up: 12,100 feet or so. Walking around is fine, but if you start running you'll feel it pretty quickly.

After we settled up with Losang he rolled out of town, leaving us at the central square. It's a one street kind of town, which makes it pretty easy for touts to find you. The Tibetan woman who was sitting in the middle of the square actually runs the guest house we had already planned on staying in, Jya Drolma's. The guest house was great- they had a 6 bed room which fit most of our party, now up to 8 with the addition of a Swede we had run into previously in Chengdu. The room was incredibly decorated:



The ceiling above my bed, with a snow lion and other Tibetan motifs:



The wall, with stylized Tibetan calligraphy and painting:



The only problem was getting there. The guest house is mere feet from the central square, but our room was on the third floor. Tiny ladders led up each floor, and at that altitude a trip down to the second floor bathrooms and back can feel like a serious endeavor. Still, Jya Drolma helped us arrange everything we needed and happily made butter tea for those interested in trying it.

On one side of the square is the Khampa Cafe, where we wound up having breakfast most mornings:



The dining room at the Khampa Cafe, again incredibly decorated:



The view out of the window in the morning, over the roof of Lhagang Monastery:



Lhagang Monastery itself is pretty small compared to Labrang, but there's a nice kora around it with prayer wheels. A constant flow of Tibetans wearing their finest walked clockwise around the monastery, spinning the wheels as they go:



Also, a stupa covered with mani stones. Mani stones are pieces of rock with the Tibetan mantra (om mani padme hum) carved into them by pilgrims or artisans. You'll hear more about them tomorrow:




A hilltop above town:



The big thing to do in Lhagang is go hiking through the grassland. Pictures from our epic hike tomorrow.

Escape from Wuhan: Part Two

When we were just about finished in Kangding we asked the hostel if they could recommend a driver to take us to the next town, Lhagang. They called a local Tibetan named Losang, whose excited explanations of what we passed on the road, willingness to stop for whatever reason, and Tibetan pop cds won us over. I was actually pretty disappointed when we were unable to secure his services for the next leg of the trip a few days later.

As you leave Kangding the road follows the narrow river valleys that flow between the mountains, gaining altitude steadily. About a half hour out the road turns into a switchbacked climb that ascends the last mountain pass before the grasslands. Behind is the last of the Konkka Mountains, still snow-covered in August:



Your ears are popping by the time the van finally reaches the top of the pass, with a bright white stupa and a small shrine:



And now ahead the grasslands unfold:



By this time our original party of 6 had grown to 7 with the addition of Sabine, a French traveler whom we met in the hostel in Kangding and wound up coming along for the ride over the next week or so. I was lucky enough to have the best Chinese and the only Tibetan language whatsoever from the group, so I kept getting pushed into the front seat on the inter-town rides. They didn't have to push too hard, naturally, but... what can I say, duty calls. Requests were shouted up to the front for me to translate, things like "such and such has to go to the bathroom" or "can we stop and take some pictures here?" or "we love the Tibetan pop but can you turn it down just a little bit?"

After crossing that pass we proceeded along the grassland for about two hours. I think we were all pretty blown away, and after the initial shock faded there were cameras aimed out of pretty much every window of the van for the rest of the ride. The long sloping hills and fields were full of yak herds and the occasional large black nomad tent. Every few miles there would be an umbrella by the side of the road, from under which Tibetans sell cups of freshly made yogurt.

Yaks by the side of the road:



Us:



At one small settlement the driver jumped out to grab a snack, and we walked down the tiny town. Homes in the area are surprisingly well-built and decorated. These two kids put on very serious faces for the picture- I think the one on the right is a monk?



Almost too soon, we arrived in Lhagang. More on that town tomorrow.