Sichuan, China: 100 Miles in (Almost) Tibet
A 30s Male trip to Western Sichuan
It should come as a surprise to no one that China is vast. Beyond the glitzy tier one cities, there exists a country with wide open grasslands, ancient pine forests, snowy mountain peaks, magnificent temples, and a heartwarming diverse group of people. It’s a place that is one of the biggest beneficiaries of the oft-talked-about poverty alleviation, yet missing from the brochure version of China showcased to the world.
The trip starts in bustling Chengdu. We rented a Toyota Prado from EHi. It was a bit janky, but it would have to do. The renowned 318 highway awaits! Getting out of the city was a trial-by-fire for fast twitch muscles. The Gao De (高德) GPS blared non-stop notifications of speed limits, merging lanes, cryptic turn directions. It was absolute chaos.
But once we exited the city streets and onto the country-side highways, a sense of calm washed over us. The seconds on the digital clocks were replaced by dews of sunshine warming up our skin. The steel skyscrapers turned into grassy hilltops, and the blue sky stretched towards infinity. We drove westward. As we went higher and higher in elevation, the roads became windier and windier. In total, we drove ~10 hours, with a stop overnight at a small pitstop, before reaching Dao Cheng Ya Ding (稻城亞丁), a 5AAAAA national park.
It’s impossible to put my first impressions into words. The closest I could come up with: breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. Perhaps it was the sheer altitude. The air is literally thinner. Standing on flat ground, it was already 4,500 meters, higher than the peak of Mt Whitney - the tallest point of the lower 48 continental U.S. states. Perhaps it was the staggering snowy mountain peaks that pierced the clouds and made mockery of the phrase “the sky’s the limit”. Perhaps it was the call of the Golden Eagles that let us know that we were visitors to their territory.
There is, effectively, one route to the vista points, which consists of several distinct pools of crystalline water nestled at the base of the glacial mountain between grasslands and cliffs. The paved path was maintained with wood planks, easy for tourists to walk on. But it was steep. So incredibly steep. After counting over 1,000 stairs, I just stopped counting. My lungs thirsted for air like a parched desert traveler thirsts for water. At that altitude, the biochemical reality starts to hit - the blood latches on to the few oxygen molecules it can find. My muscles were strained. My legs were stiff. Each step felt like lugging a one-ton brick off the ground. Round trip, it was the most challenging ~10 miles I’ve ever walked in my life.
Were the views at the end worth it? Specifically? Maybe, maybe not. That said, the journey was unforgettable. It’s a humbling experience. There’s a je-ne-sai-quoi quality to it. The rawness of the surrounding cliffs, carved by millions of years of erosion, remind you of your transient existence, not just of yourself but the entire humankind. Looking around, you’ll find temples and yak ranches scattered throughout. One has to wonder how they even got built in such bewildering heights. Seeing the magnificent religious structures, a sense of spirituality fills the oxygen-depleted air. The Tibetan Lamas have co-existed with the local flora and fauna for centuries in such harsh, unforgiving conditions. There is a humble respect, maybe even fearfulness, of the nature around them. When contrasted to world-famous U.S. National Parks like Yosemite or Yellowstone, which are devoid of traces of Native Americans, it begs the question - what happened to all the aborigines of those lands?
As we drove to our next destination, the views had a familiar texture to the Sierra Nevadas, lined with ancient pines and the occasional bare rock. But the roads were raw, cluttered with rock slides. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a tiny bit afraid for my life.
The next stop was Shangri-la (香格里拉). The name has long since attained legendary status and evokes an ethereal feeling when you hear it. Being there in person, It’s easy to see why. The labyrinth of temples tower over you, glistening in gold and red. Crows soar around the buildings, as if a speckled black curtain unveiling the glory behind them. Of course, there are hundreds of tourists cosplaying in local traditional wear. But it only adds charm to the place.
Stepping inside the temples, the air feels heavy with centuries of tradition, but each breath seems to lift the spirits. The aesthetics are quite different from traditional Chinese Buddhist motifs - it’s colorful and festive and generous with intricate details. The deities painted on the walls resemble the folk gods of Southeast Asia. With multiple eyes and protruding horns - they would have looked right at home in the jungles of Indonesia. There were several Lamas draped in a scarlet robe, meditating quietly and chanting in a low vibration, undistracted by the outside ruckus. Several cats sit nearby with eyes half closed and a bemused grin stretched across their face. I don’t know if I left the place any closer to enlightenment, but it certainly felt the closest I had ever been.
It only took an hour before we reached Yu Hu Village (玉湖村). After parking in the main town square, we lug our luggage across the uneven cobblestones. Time slows down. Stray dogs wander aimlessly through the alleyways without a care in the world. The vernacular architecture of buildings harken to a time before modern machines homogenized the globe. A row of old village elders sit in a row, completely absorbed in their idle gossip. It’s a place where you can get lost for hours in a cup of Pu’er Cha.
But we didn’t have time to waste if we were to go see Gan He Ba (幹河垻). There was only 6 hours before the sun would set, and we had yet another trail to conquer . The path was unpaved, exposing bare dirt, protruding rocks, and heaps of cow dung. As such, we saw very few other hikers. Instead, we encountered a herd of eager mountain goats looking for their shepherd, which we were more than happy to play pretend. We traversed a series of habitats, starting from short pine-covered forests and ending in grassy highlands. If you blow away the misty clouds that enshrouded the place, the grassy highlands resembled the African savannahs you see in nature documentaries. Cutting through the untamed grass, we followed our ears to the bubbling sound of rushing water. We finally reached a riverbed covered in stones of all sizes.
There, I saw something I’ve never before seen in my life: a river that was pure white. Astounded, I stood in silence for ten minutes to take it all in. I grew up camping and have done my fair share of backpacking. That said, this was the first time I’ve encountered anything like this - a seemingly endless volume of white milk flowing down a mountain slope. I scooped down to scoop up the silky smooth white dirt. It oozed as it dripped through my fingers. The texture was identical to raw porcelain clay used to make exquisite vases for Ming emperors - I’m almost positive they were the same. If you somehow step in the moist white dirt, your feet start to sink and stick to the ground, leaving behind deep indentations. We had read that there were hikers that got stuck in the prior rainy season, and they had to send in rescue teams.
We could’ve stayed there for hours. But the sun was setting and we didn’t want to be the headline for the local news. We booked it for the exit and made it down in time for last call at the next door restaurant. We ate dinner with a sense of intimate serenity. We had all just witnessed a reality more surreal than dreams.That night, I slept like a baby.
Our last day takes us to Da Yan Ancient Town in Lijiang (麗江大研古城). We stepped through a time-portal into several square kilometers of stone buildings with clay roof tiles and wooden window frames. Some are newly remodeled. Others look in dire need of repair. The streets are made up of uneven stones. There are tiny streams that criss-cross the town with beautiful flowers lining the walkways. Visually, it was picturesque. Auditorily, “quiet” would be the last word I would describe the place. There was a cacophony of people shouting, plates dropping, and bicycles zooming by. There was a torrent of vendors hawking their wares and restaurants were overflowing with diners. Some people complain it’s commercialized. That may be true. But, if you took away the QR codes and t-shirts, I could imagine the same scene taking place several hundred years ago - an ancient bazaar brimming with activity.
Overall, the China I experienced was a completely different China from mega-metropolises and the mega-infrastructure projects you often read about. They say you can only know a person when you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. Perhaps you can only really know a place when you’ve walked 100 miles through their mountains, rivers, and villages. All I can say is you really do have to experience yourself in person and really take the time to walk around.
