(Source: China Daily)
Xiahe in upland Gansu - a precious moment of travel
By Bruce Connolly | chinadaily.com.cn | Updated: 2018-06-28 14:02
Looking at an evening satellite image of China, it was apparent from the urban lights how relatively little human settlement there is in the country's northwest compared to the densely populated eastern areas. A consequence, of course, is much clearer skies with excellent visibility. This was certainly my impression while staying at Hezuo, the capital of Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture in Gansu, in September 1997. During the afternoon, I had been sitting on top of a grassy hill viewing the extensive grassy plateau that surrounded me. In the evening I looked from the roof of my guesthouse at a sky literally filled with shining stars. The air was so clean and fresh that I felt it was a pity to leave after only a short stay, but more experiences awaited me.
As we drove out through the town in the early morning light, smoke rose from decorative chimneys atop the Tibetan-style homes, while monks wrapped in their crimson robes cycled past the 13-floor lamasery I had visited the previous day. Soon, as the crest of a wide pass was reached, the urban area drifted behind. The scene changed to herders on horseback looking over flocks of sheep and black-coated yaks, while above the sky formed an intense blue with a scattering of fluffy white clouds. Gradually Highway G213 descended toward the tree line. While that route would continue down to Lanzhou, we turned left onto Provincial Road S312 for a westward climb alongside the picturesque Daxia River. Dark forests clung to steep overhanging slopes above cascading waters, crashing over great boulders. At times simple wood and wire footbridges led across the river, allowing access to and from remote hillside villages. Winding higher up the gorge, we passed herders and monks beside the highway. White stupas rose above the cliffs next to mountain temples.
After an hour's drive, the landscape opened up to reveal a wider valley. A sign proclaimed "Welcome to Xiahe", a town that would become one of the more fascinating places I had visited in my recent travels. I would stay in a compound beyond the town in a room modeled on a large Tibetan-style tent. But before checking in, I climbed a grassy hill on the south bank of the river. The view of the town was stunning, with its gilded Gongtang Pagoda and vast Labrang Monastery set below a backdrop of the Phoenix and Dragon Mountains. Below, across a wooden bridge stretched a wall several kilometers long, enclosing the pagoda, monastery and parts of the Old Town. The wall was lined with prayer wheels constantly spun by lines of visitors walking clockwise beside the wall. Many were dressed in heavy Tibetan attire.
My hotel, the Labuleng, lay west of the Hongjiaosi, whose name means "Temple of the Red Hat Sect" in Chinese. Declining a suggestion to rest because of the altitude, it was time to explore as I was realizing that even a stay of two days would be insufficient. Heading up toward the road leading west from Xiahe, small buses and open three-wheel trucks were assembled, transportation for people living out in temporary summer encampments or more permanent villages. Traditional seminomadic life was still a feature in parts of the surrounding uplands. As I walked, rising above the road was a section of hillside for rolling out a giant 30 meter by 20 meter thangka, or sacred Buddhist cloth painting, on the morning of the 13th day of the Tibetan New Year, usually in February or early March. Alongside me, farmers worked in fields, often singing, as they harvested barley that was winnowed on large open-air concrete platforms, or simply spread on the road where the weight of passing vehicles would help facilitate that process. It was fascinating to watch the constant movement of people, some on donkey-pulled carts or on bicycles.
Continuing westwards, where the valley narrowed, a dam held back a lake for generating hydropower, enhancing and reflecting the beauty of the area with its rolling treeless hills leading up to the Sangke Grasslands. A wide, rolling plain, it was covered in blue, purple and yellow flowers while grazed by yaks and horses. Local people on horseback, often wearing wide-brimmed hats, rode up trying to persuade me to go horseback riding. I wanted to walk, to be alone, to appreciate the stunning visibility, to breathe in the aroma of nature. As I wandered, I heard more singing as a girl in a red shirt wearing a brimmed white hat strolled across the meadow in the direction of a temporary encampment. I just wanted more time to take in the scene and the ambience. But it was time to return to town with at least the photographic memories of the enchantment of those upland grasslands and the people who lived there.
Xiahe is a relatively small town, with main attractions that are easily accessible by walking. Labuleng Temple, founded in 1709, is one of the six most important monasteries of the Gelugpa, or Yellow Hat, sect of Tibetan Buddhism. In 1997 there were relatively few tourists as I walked through the courtyards or entered the many dim, candlelit halls with a noticeable aroma of sandalwood. Seated monks would ring bells while the walls held many racks of sacred Buddhist texts. Long, tubular cloth garlands hung from the wooden rafters almost reaching down to the piles of carpets where the monks would sit during services, chanting or meditation. There were countless bronze statues illuminated by flickering yak butter lamps.
I was often alone, which I prefer in these situations. It was perfect to sit and listen to the chanting of the monks or watch them perform slow, dramatic dance movements accompanied by the long-horned musical instruments producing deep wails, the banging of cymbals, and the beating of large drums covered in yak leather. It was awesome to watch.
Some wore plumed yellow hats as they walked, while others sat under trees reading Buddhist scripts known as sutras. Young novice monks ran around courtyards that would act as debating squares.
The monastery had its grand temples and residence buildings, but it also housed six colleges where astronomy, Tibetan medicine and theology were taught along with schools specializing in painting, dance and music. Printing workshops continued the tradition of hand-printing strips of rice paper using carved wooden blocks.
Despite the altitude I felt an incredible energy and desire to keep going and explore. This included walking clockwise along parts of the wall following the several kilometers-long kora, or pilgrim circuit, enclosing the monastery, pagoda and older portion of town. Part of it ran uphill, providing excellent views across much of Xiahe. I lost count of the number of prayer wheels along the periphery of the wall. They form an inseparable part of Buddhist and Tibetan tradition. Many people -- some families, some elderly men or women -- followed the route, often holding a small rotating metal mani prayer cylinder with their left hand while spinning the wall-mounted hexagonal wooden wheels with their right hand. Some walked in meditation while also quietly reciting prayers. At intervals, shaded pavilions would enclose a single, larger wheel. The trail eventually led up to a large chorten, around which people would circumambulate, slowly and methodically, again in a clockwise direction.
Ultimately the route brought me back down to the Daxia River and the gilded 31-meter-tall Gongtang Pagoda, one of Xiahe's most iconic treasures. The entrance was via an elaborate red-and-blue doorway adorned with prayer flags and Tibetan script. The square base of the pagoda was enclosed with a covered walkway lined with many metallic prayer wheels. Narrow wooden staircases led up through a series of floors covering the lower part before emerging onto balconies directly beneath the stunning gilded upper section. The views across to the Labuleng Temple, where I had been earlier that day, and over the surrounding town and mountainous landscape were simply breathtaking.
Indeed, I found it fascinating simply to walk around Xiahe and watch the flow of people. Many, of course, were visitors who had come particularly to spend time at the monastery or follow the kora trail. Others were locals who ran businesses including a sizable number of Muslim traders who sold clothing and household goods from stalls. A large number of Tibetan items were on sale, including personal mani wheels, yak butter candle holders, silver jewelry, fur-lined boots, large brimmed hats, coats and even leather saddles. Again, it was a dream to wander among them, including walking through everyday markets and mixing with the crowds shopping, or watching people prepare traditional tsampa, a mixture of hand-kneaded yak butter and barley flour.
My final evening was in a Muslim-run family restaurant, where I enjoyed the spicy cuisine. Alongside a mixture of local people were several Buddhist monks. All were engrossed in watching football on television, although many greeted me in a variety of dialects and languages common to this part of Gansu. Such memories lingered with me as I headed back along the unlit road to my hotel under a galaxy of brightly twinkling stars, evidence of the amazing celestial visibility. Awaiting me on a table in my Tibetan-style room were several small mooncakes, for I was there during the Mid-Autumn Festival!
After breakfast the next day, it was a five-hour drive down to Lanzhou, stopping at Linxia for lunch. Along the way, I kept scribbling down notes of the many precious memories from the previous few days.
Three years later in May 2000, I returned to Xiahe with a study group from Scotland on a journey through northwestern China. Like me, they did not want to leave Xiahe and also used up considerable amounts of film. But this time Xiahe was a taste of things to come. Ever since my schooldays I had longed to visit Lhasa. Six weeks after leaving Xiahe, I was standing in front of that city's iconic Potala Palace. A dream had come true!
