Kai Lukoff

Field report of our excursion to Gansu province, central China:

James, Chloé, and I had a wonderful trip, filled with adventures and hazards. I found that our wonderful group dynamics persisted from last year, so were always in high spirits. James also published a riveting account at his new blog, www.jamespphoto.com, where his rockstar photography skills are on display.

We flew to Lanzhou, in central China, which is notorious for laying claim to the title of “world’s most populated city.” It has earned my vote. At one point the city decided to blast off the top of a mountain to create a breeze that would dissipate the heavy smog in the valley, but quickly discovered that it only added ungodly amounts of sediment to the air.

View Larger Map



We quickly exited Lanzhou, headed for Xiahe, which boasts the largest congregation of Tibetians outside of Tibet, including a monastery with 3000+ monks. We spent our first night outside of town in the sanke grasslands, with a semi-nomadic Tibetian family. Yaks, well suited for the freezing winter temperatures of the region, lounged in the compound. The next morning we were served fresh yak butter (has a blue cheese flavor to it), which we were admonished for spreading onto the bread (it’s supposed to go into the tea). I’m afraid Tibetian cuisine has a long way to go before it receives its first Michelin star.

The grasslands also offered our first taste of horse riding. To instigate a canter we had to rely upon the feisty little horse ridden by a Chinese friend who we met on the bus into town. Once he charged ahead, our rides all followed.

In Xiahe the next day, we explored the Tibetian monastery. In my previous experiences with Buddhist monks in Thailand I found them to be extraordinarily kind and open people. The Xiahe monks did not disappoint. We were invited for lunch and later on the three of us even watched the world cup (Germany vs. England) together with a Tibetian monk, who decided he supported the red team (England). James played ‘charades’ with one of the regally dressed head monks, who spoke only Tibetian, in which they were able to communicate that they were both fans of the Dalai Lama. There was none of the ‘holier than thou’ attitude that too often accompanies other religions.

From Xiahe we headed to Langmusi, a more remote Tibetian town, grasslands nestled in an idyllic valley of stone cliffs. Unfortunately we awoke the next morning to find the shops shuttered and military marching through town; upon further inquiry we discovered that riots had broken out, with territorial factions razing each other’s shops and homes (the village is on the border of Gansu and Sichuan provinces, it was not about Han Chinese vs. Tibetians as the riots were in 2008). Young men with guns dug entrenchments into the overlooking hills. More armed police and military rolled into town, until it built up to easily over a thousand troops. We took our cue to exit, leaving behind our shattered conceptions of the ‘peaceful’ Tibetan people.

We were able to salvage the journey to the remote grasslands by finding another village down the road, where we befriended a local school teacher, Bo Jia. That gave us a window into local life: perspectives on the Tibetian educational system and the relationship between the Chinese government and Tibetan people. Bo Jia was of a moderate persuasion. He disliked much of the heavy-handed policies of the Han majority (e.g., teachers are forbidden from wearing Tibetian prayer beads at school, although classes are taught in the Tibetan), but ultimately felt that it was more carrots (economic incentives, jobs) that drove assimilation than sticks (though that remains an option of last resort). Lastly, he never wanted the Chinese government to step back completely, because he feared that the Tibetians would descend into fierce fighting amongst themselves.

We had originally intended to set out hiking and camping through the rolling hills, but our plans were dashed by ferocious dogs, both wild and “domesticated.” ten minutes into our first day hike, we came upon a Tibetan nomad, with her two young children. We waved from afar, she approached us, and a dog came bounding over. Except that instead of a friendly golden retriever, this snarling beast was a cross between a wolf and a husky, with satanic glowing orange eyes. it growled, leaped, and bared its fangs. We stood our ground initially, but when it passed through the fence dividing the land, we couldn’t help but cower. It encircled us against the fence, Chloé nearly had a heart attack (I did too), but then the monster finally lost interest. All the while this nomad just watched, finally saying a mild word that had no effect. I don’t know what exactly we expected, but these dogs were definitely less “man’s best friend” and more for mauling yak rustlers. we found out later that Tibetians themselves carry strong thwacking sticks to fend off the out-of-control beasts, but despite that still had some nasty scars to show on their legs.

The trip to get to our next destination, Linxia, was the most hazardous ride of my life. a perfect storm of atrocious conditions, car, and driver. it was raining and foggy that night, with no reflectors on the side of the road. The car rattled like it was about to fall apart, the wheels were improperly aligned with a drift to the left, and the headlights were like flashlights on low battery. The driver was the worst of all: he appeared to have cataracts, would muttering incomprehensibly to himself, and kept drifting into the middle lane. In hindsight, we never should have stepped into that piece of shit car with that shit driver. I thank my lucky stars that we all survived.

Linxia is a center of Muslim culture in China, with a majority of the population belonging to the Hui minority. James and I attended services at a mosque (no girls allowed), my first experience in an Islamic area. And we sampled the local fare, roast lamb and sweet herbal tea, which rates far ahead of Tibetan in my book.

Our last stop was Huanghe Shilin. As one could conceivably guess from the name, the Yellow River Stone Forest, it’s a town along the famed Yellow River, surrounded by stone peaks and canyons. It’s a semi-desert climate so there’s little vegetation, but excellent sand dunes. Our favorite night was on a dune overlooking that town, underneath the stars, and leaping in the sand. Chloé, James, and I eagerly await for the day when dune-jumping is accepted into the Olympics — we have our synchronized jumping team, catchy jingle, and promotional photos set to go.

We also set out to explore the canyons, a day on which we rode 6 different types of transportation: bus, sheep skin raft (actually supported by the hollow, inflated, and sealed skin of a sheep), speedboat, cable ferry (attached to cables spanning the river, moves by positioning its rudders), sand kart, and horse. It was that latter that nearly led to our early demise. After our previous horse riding experience, we figured the challenge would be motivating a canter out of the listless tourist animals. Instead, the moment the handlers let go, our horses took off to the races. My horse pulled close to James’s, at which point his horse bit mine and then bucked. James was hanging on for dear life, a true English cowboy. At the same, Chloé had, to her great dismay, charged into the lead and out of control. My horse followed behind as we broke into a no-holds barred gallop. At first it was terrifying, the complete powerlessness, until an acceptance and exhilaration set in. that helped mask the fact that this ride had a not insignificant chance of snapping my spine; only the good die young? We found out afterwards that the horses were racing because it was the end of the day, so the end of the ride was dinnertime for them.

And that’s all I have to tell of the adventures and hazards of 8 days in Gansu.

Tags: chloe, gansu, james, travel

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 17th, 2010 at 7:59 pm and is filed under travel.