MAY 1st HOLIDAY: Part FIVE: Xiahe (夏河)

I've been feeling guilty, and not a little self-absorbed, over the last few months of blogging. So much has been happening here in China, and from what I hear, the rest of the world has been paying quite a bit of attention. Needless to say, these developments have been much bigger than those in my own small life of language skill insecurity and brief excursions across the Chinese mainland. I'm conflicted, because on the one hand, one of the things that captured me the first time I came to China was how little I knew about its culture and history and how very weakly I grasped its rising economic and political power and influence. Given the excess of schooling I've submitted myself to and considering my strengths and weaknesses as a human being and future productive citizen, I thought that increasing cross-cultural dialogue and understanding was my calling.

So now I am here, at an incredible time, with what is perhaps a rare opportunity to cast light on a place and a historical moment... and I can't bring myself to do so, or at least not here. Part of this is that I don't really feel capable of doing an adequate and accurate job talking about what has been going on. I don't have the background, I don't have all the information, and I definitely don't have the time. Besides, I don't really see why I should bother, considering that a few of my dear readers have told me that they only look at the pictures (so you can blame them if you don't learn anything here).

More practically, I'm a little worried about putting things on the web-o-sphere that might endanger my relationship with China. My dad gave me a talking to about taking what I publish more seriously a few months ago and I've taken it to heart and verily resigned myself to fluff.

But given what we saw and heard on our visit to Xiahe and the Labrang Monastery, I was conflicted once again. From what we heard, we were the only foreigners to make it into town for quite some time. One monk said there had been one other man who had visited recently (little did we know it may have been a columnist for the New York Times who later published this piece), and in general people were visibly surprised to see us tramping around town. Afterwards, the four of us discussed the matter -- did we have the responsibility to report on what we had heard (and in some cases had been asked to make known to people on the outside)? I think so. But I don't think this is the right forum.

On the basis of that conclusion, I've provided a rudimentary narrative for my pictures. If you are interested, read the abovementioned NYT piece by Nicholas Kristof. On to the visit:

On the road, which was thankfully unhindered by roadblocks:

A mosque stands out in the midst of an earth-colored town in a mountain valley.

The bus stops for a goat crossing (amazingly, they were unaccompanied and seemed to be willingly making their way back home after a day out foraging).

Upon arrival I was first struck by the barren topography and crisp high-altitude air. The monastery itself was beautiful and very quiet. It felt more like Tibet than what (according to some who've been) Tibet proper looks like these days.

We arrived just before morning prayer. A gaggle of monks in deep red-pink robes and saffron muppet-like hats responded to the call of a horn and, discarding their boots, entered the prayer hall.

Pilgrims completing their 108 circumambulations around the holy hall had to stop occasionally to kick the carelessly removed monk-boots out of their way.

There are still more than a thousand monks living at Labrang Monastery. I didn't expect there would be so many.

Pilgrims taking a rest after making their rounds.

Monkchkins (boys generally enter the monastery around age 9, but they look so much tinier).

The sculptures below are made entirely out of Yak butter and various dyes. They are brought out for festivals and special occasions and are re-made about once a year after they slowly fall apart.

The level of detail was quite extraordinary.

And the rich buttery smell in the cool storage room was quite strong.

In consequence I passed on the Yak butter tea at lunch and instead had a sort of chai made with Yak milk. It was tasty and rich.

After several hours at the monastery we went roaming around the town, talking to anyone and everyone we met.

At the river, we met a large group of schoolchildren being herded by a few teachers. They didn't have much to say about the current political climate in the town. But they were really cute.

From our wanderings through back streets and alleys.

Large digital images of government visions for renovation of the town, just a small part of the large-scale, long-term plan to "Open the West".