Kham, East Tibet
Trip Start
Feb 01, 2004
1
2
29
Trip End
Feb 01, 2008
Lhasa,
China
Sunday, August 19, 2007
The news was shocking!
The ticket agent at the Shangri-la bus terminal in
Zhongdian, Yunnan province was happy to tell me over and over, in both Chinese
and English, that yes, foreigners can now travel east through the Tibet
Autonomous Region to Lhasa ... overland and without a permit! I really couldn't
believe what I was hearing, but rather than falling down in rapture, I agonized
over taking advantage of this new policy or continuing as planned on my
already-paid-for, government-authorized, one-week tour across Kham to Lhasa.
Ultimately, it would have been silly for me not to choose the latter.
The
decade-old Land Cruiser was in surprisingly good condition, having driven
through Tibet 99 times. We set out through northern Yunnan to the crags of
Feilaisi, finding ourselves at a dizzying 4,000 meters above sea level and
nauseously breathless, to stay overnight at a roadside pilgrimage site of
sun-bleached chortens, wind-tattered prayer flags and a stunning view of
Mingyong Glacier.
Bright (a light so bright it was hard to believe) and
early the next morning, we continued into undulating hills. Vistas of
incomparable beauty revealed themselves with each bend. The forest was a
tapestry of earthy shades, in orange, purple, browns and greens, both light and
dark. With the iridescent blue sky and cottony white clouds above us, we traced
perilous dirt switchbacks whose collapsing shoulders threatened to toss us
hundreds of meters below into the Mekong River; it looked peaceful enough from
above, its banks and farmland dotted with eye-catching, whitewashed adobe homes
that seemed to beckon us into Tibet.
"Xizang!" our driver called out. In
fact we had been in Tibet for half a day, but how could we know without having
crossed any sort of border or being stopped by officials asking to see our
papers? We had to remind ourselves that entering Eastern Tibet was now a
permit-less process and all the checkpoints on our maps and guidebooks were
recently abandoned. We celebrated our unbeknownst entry into the TAR (Tibetan
Autonomous Region) by spending the day in the small, dusty city of Markham.
Winding down from its weekend market, the city was brimming with the splendor of
the traditional Khampas population: golden-skinned women with their long striped
dresses and colorful plaits, and large-sized men with lengthy braided hair woven
with red Chamdo tassels and a solid jade hoop. We were greeted by dozens of
red-cheeked, runny-nosed children dancing around us. My European traveling
companions were constantly surrounded by a crowd of curious adults, who took
turns running their fingers along the thick blonde leg hairs, then letting out a
collective fascinated murmur.
Traveling through Eastern Tibet can be
compared with experiencing the four seasons in just a matter of days. While we
started with clear skies and venerable forests, the next morning took us into
icy tundra. Ascending 99 bends into the Hengduan Range, the mountains seemed to
freeze over before our eyes. At 5,008 meters we reached the highest altitude of
our trip.
At the bleak Dongdola pass we encountered a settlement of
nomadic shepherds (drokpas) living in black tents while herds of emaciated
yak-cows grazed the surrounding frozen pastures. These gentle people of an
inhospitable land were dressed in simple hand-woven attire, but they were
extravagantly accessorized in coral, turquoise and silver jewelry. These
shepherds had seen few white faces in their lifetime. One drokpa family had yet
to see a digital camera and they were mesmerized by the sight of their own
images on the LCD screen.
At Pomda, a noise-polluted junction of logging
trucks and tractors, we met a bunch of international backpackers and hardcore
cyclists sitting at the literal crossroads that connects the northern route of
the busy Sichuan-Tibet highway with the less-traveled southern roads. From
there, our journey took us through and down into verdant terraced hamlets and
patchwork plots of land fed by snow springs, over the Salween River to the
unbelievably mint-blue twin lakes of Rawoktso. Dodging Kham's morning traffic of
goats, lamb and yak-cows (yes, cross-bred), we pressed on along the
boulder-strewn road of the Sundzom Valley, past the Parlung Tsangpo white water
rapids and old avalanches of frozen snow to Tongmei, where we encountered our
first real obstacle.
Rumors had been circulating amongst the backpackers
we'd been meeting on the road about a downed bridge at the Brahmaputra and
Parlung Tsangpo convergence, which would prevent anyone from continuing on to
Lhasa. It turned out the bridge was fine but a landslide on the other side had
literally wiped the road off the sheer mountain face. Anyone wanting to continue
on had to either nimbly navigate a narrow footpath or wait a week or
longer.
So it was here that we said goodbye to our Land Cruiser and
crossed the bridge to meet another driver. The organizer of our trip told us via
cellphone from his cozy office in Kunming that the new driver would be waiting
"just a short walk" from the landslide. It turned out to be an arduous four-hour
hike up a treacherous mountain path above the Rongchu gorge, in the dark of
night, under the pouring rain of Tibet's monsoon season. We braved the muddy
slopes, deftly crossing washouts and literally dodging falling rocks from above,
before finally arriving at a construction workers' tent made from a giant nylon
bag. The Israeli and British backpackers decided to stay while my companions and
I trekked onward, in search of our new driver.
With our new vehicle and
driver, we headed onwards toward Lhasa. Passing vivid fields of yellow youcai
flowers, we arrived at the famous Draksumtso, an azure lake and lush Alpine
forest which would have been breathtaking had it not been for the sea of
baseball cap-wearing tour groups - the isolated beauty of Eastern Tibet was
behind us.
###
Tom Carter of San Francisco is an internationally
published freelance photographer and travel writer specializing in the People's
Republic of China. Tom has traveled extensively throughout all 33 Chinese
provinces and autonomous regions and currently resides in Beijing.
This
article originally appeared in the July 2006 edition of That's Beijing magazine.
