Karma County 1

krolesh
May 3, 2024
6 min read

So there I was, heading up to the Tibetan monastery of Labrang, high in the freezing mountains, with no clothes for very cold weather, except for my lone puffer jacket, which I threw into my overnight bag on a whim.

But my head was full of roaring excitement, and I was warm inside.

You know, getting around China isn't anywhere near as straightforward as it is in Southeast Asia. Firstly, my navigation apps are relatively crap here, particularly in towns and cities. Google Maps is useless pretty much everywhere here. The general longer distance road maps in my downloaded map apps are sort of ok, but when you're trying to find anything in particular, good luck. 'Cos they're just not there.

So I've been using a Chinese map app, Baidu, but of course it's all in Chinese, so when initially using it I was forced to use constant and tedious screenshot translations to get the info I needed. By now, however, I've sorta got a reasonable handle on the positions of the main icons in the app, and am starting to find places more easily.

I asked at my hotel reception how to get to the southern bus station to get a bus to Xiahe, where Labrang monastery is situated. After all sorts of language confusion a friend of the receptionist motioned for me to follow him, then put me on the back of his motorbike, dropped me at a local bus stand and told me which bus to catch to the main southern bus terminal. What a sweetie.

Clean and electric domestic bus

At the bus station I was informed that all the buses to Xiahe were sold out. So I grabbed a bus to Linxia instead, a large town on the way, hoping I'd be able to get a local bus from there to my destination.

After a couple of hours, as we approached the town, I noticed really interesting Islamic minarets around the place, built in a style that I'd never seen before.

Linxia is a Muslim town, with some super interesting architecture. I was dropped on the outskirts, and walked over to another bus station, to see if I could connect to Xiahe.

Downtown Linxia

Crossing the river

Sorry for the graphic detail. I just wanted to show you what all Chinese public toilets used to look like. When I first came to China in the 90s I was shocked at how filthy the public toilets were. They were even worse than Indian public toilets, which was quite an achievement back then.

And it would be now too.

The inside of public toilets in China used to consist of a series of little cubicles in a row, separated by half walls. You squat over a trench, which runs right between your legs, and is also connected to all the other cubicles. Every 20 seconds or so, a huge wave of water rushes through the trench under you, and you're gifted the pleasure of seeing everyone else's shit deposits rush past under you, between your legs, maybe even lovingly sticking to your own shit, and helping it on its journey to wherever shit goes.

So this mini toilet brought back many crap memories. But this is an exception here these days, rather than the rule. Public toilets are reasonably clean now.

And then luckily for me, when I got to the bus station ticket counter, I discovered that I'd calculated right, and managed to get a connecting bus up to Xiahe.

There was beautiful architecture on the way, both Islamic and Han.

We climbed and climbed.

Close to Xiahe, this Tibetan settlement was a sign of things to come.

Xiahe

Xiahe is home to Labrang Monastery, one of the most important Tibetan monasteries in the world. Labrang is one of the six main monasteries of the Gelug (Yellow Hat) Tibetan Buddhist sect, the same sect that the Dalai Lama is the spiritual leader of. (I mean, he's the spiritual leader of all Tibetans actually).

It's set high in barren hills at an elevation of about 3,000m. Which means it's bloody freezing at this time of year. The surrounding countryside is a moonscape, it reminds me a little of the bone dry hills of Central Otago, down near Queenstown in New Zealand.

I got out of the bus, puffer zipped to the top, and was immediately thrust into a little Tibet, with the architecture, the shops, the vibe, and of course the people, all completely different from the place I'd left only a few hours before in Lanzhou. It was completely surreal, and yet somehow totally familiar, as I've spent a lot of time in Tibetan places over the years, including over the past few months.

Historically, Xiahe was strategically situated at the meeting place of the Tibetan and Mongolian kingdoms, and the monastery of Labrang was built up there as one of Tibetan Buddhism's largest universities.

At the turn of last century the monastery housed over four thousand monks, and today is still the largest monastery outside of what the Chinese call the Tibet Autonomous Region, with around 1600 monks still living and studying there.

Traditionally Xiahe is part of the Amdo region of northeastern Tibet, one of the three main Tibetan regions, the others being Kham and U-Tsang. U-Tsang is the cultural heartland of Tibet, covering the south-central part of the Tibetan region, and is where the capital Lhasa is situated.

While the three regions significantly differ culturally and linguistically, spiritually they are all very connected, and their religious practices are virtually identical. Tibetans of all regions strongly regard themselves as one people.

The Amdo Tibetan region is nearly all incorporated into the current Chinese province of Qinghai, (with a few pockets in Gansu province, like this one).

My intention is to explore Qinghai on my bike, as I head northwest to Kazakhstan. There's some incredible ancient Buddhist sites there.

I'm not sure if you can see how many kids are streaming along the pavement after school, but I can tell ya the line was endless. Pretty much every single one of them said hello to me, and the brave ones even asked me my name or said, "nice to meet you." So cute. My waving hand got sore though, as it took forever for the happy smiling joking squealing munchkins to get past.

Amazing bakery. I bought sweets.

After a search through the back alleys, and asking directions from countless people, I finally found this little Tibetan homestay.

My host, Dukkar, is the sweetest, most beautiful man. We spent some very special time together, and even jammed, as he's a keen guitarist.

My modest room.

The view from upstairs. Rustic and homey. That's an m, not an rn.

Yeah, yeah, yet another Freudian slip. I don't care. Freud was a wanker with deep psychosexual problems.

I guess that doesn't say much for me.

Late arvo rest. If I'd thought of it I would've sculpted my fruit in a more creative way.

Another Freudian slip. I still don't care.

Don't ask me what this guy was trying to do, but he didn't move for the whole time I stayed there, and was completely unresponsive to my friendliest of approaches.

Heading across the Daxia River, strolling in to town looking for food.

[The funniest thing just happened. I'm sitting on a bus at the moment, and about 20 minutes ago loud jazz music started playing. I thought, "wow, that was the last thing I expected on a bus in rural Gansu." Anyway, pleasantly surprised, I enjoyed it for awhile, and then, when retrieving my phone from my bag behind me to research stuff for this blog, I realised that, actually, the jazz was booming from my very own phone. Perfect. Apple just decides to play me music every now and then, choosing from the far flung depths of my own music collection, some of which I've never heard before, just like the piece that's playing now. No one seems to mind though, so, hey, I'll leave it on. It's better than Chinese pop, or audio pollution from games on other people's phones. And it distracts from the loud horn my trigger-happy bus driver blasts every couple of bars.]

One edge of the monastery. It's all closed up now, I'll go exploring tomorrow.

The warm and cosy Tara Café, which turned out to be a fave.

It's icy cold outside. It was absolutely freezing walking back to my guesthouse after food, especially the biting wind, which seems to be able to pass through solid objects at will. A bit of a shock. And no hat, scarf, gloves or thermals to counter it.

Although luckily my puffer has a little hood.

Yak butter. I smelt it way before I saw it. The locals raise yaks here, and the temples and shrines in the monastery are full to the brim with yak butter lamps. The smell reminds me of beautiful experiences in the past, wandering around with friends in various Tibetan places, special connections with local people, Buddhist teachers and their teachings. I love how smells do that.