Down the Hill

My dreams of thru-traveling the STH from Sìchuān into Qīnghǎi and Xīnjiāng crumbled under Yùshù's devastating earthquake. As of yesterday, my plan was to be in Yùshù today (Friday the 16th), meaning I missed the earthquake's near-epicenter by two days. As an agnostic, I'm not sure whom, if anyone, I have to thank for this good fortune.

Today, from Dege, I made it as far as Manigange, cresting Tro La Pass at 5,050 meters (16,568 feet) en route - the scenery was stunning. In Manigange I sat at a highway intersection hoping to materialize a ride further on – anywhere, as it turned out. A steady stream of government vehicles hummed past at an urgent pace - in aggregate several hundred Land Cruisers, ambulances, and satellite telecom rigs. This route from Chengdu (the STH) is busy funneling police, medical, and rescue personnel, while supplies are being trucked in from Xīníng to the north. The spirited relief effort was uplifting and reminded me of home. At the same time, I cringed to consider how ill-prepared India would be in responding to such a crisis, God forbid. The Han, they get it done.

As the afternoon progressed, it was evident that my continuing upcountry to Yùshù was neither feasible nor appropriate. After four hours of lingering, I finally hitched a ride back to Gānsù in an empty supply truck, one of the relief vehicles sponsored by Bank of China. It was one of the few trucks heading back from Yùshù, to re-supply, and I got a roughly translated (and condensed) version of the driver's report: 'Yùshù is destroyed… no homes, no food, no water.'

status

en route to Yùshù as planned, despite current events and assuming I can get there. I was fortunate to miss the earthquake.

Here's where I am (DegeXian):


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Dege

The highlight of Dege (aka Derge) is its 280-year-old printing temple, the largest collection of Tibetan woodblocks in the world and a reservoir of Tibetan culture. The process remains traditional today and it was fun to observe the manual steps of block printing, authentication, and binding of the scripture. The temple stores an immense collection of Tibetan and Buddhist literature, some of which are the only remaining versions in the world.

Yak Herdsmen

Mid-April is producing the earliest hints of spring, and the grasslands look to be a week or so from popping. One day I trekked into the hinterlands with a backpack of provisions, less food and water - go figure. A herd of yaks in the distance was skirting a steep hillside with a backdrop of frosted peaks. It took me an hour to reach the herd, which was driven by a welcoming couple. They were both around 70 years old, but you'd have no idea from the skip in their step at 13,000 feet. I subsequently spent two days with them, following the herd upriver to a grazing basin. The couple had their own provisions stashed in a small cave on a bluff, and they tended an open fire with yak dung to prepare flatbread and Tibetan tea. When it started snowing at 4:00pm, the old man invited me to stay the night in their home, but I opted to traverse the river valley to a road, from where I could try my luck at hitchhiking back to town.

Sìchuān-Tibet Highway

The STH is a hair-raising adventure through the Chinese Himalaya and the eastern Tibetan Plateau. As one of the highest roads in the world, much of it clams in excess of 4,000 meters of elevation, and the section I traveled topped 5,000 meters. This remote corner of China is part of the Kham region of eastern Tibet, and home to some of the best-preserved Tibetan culture accessible to foreigners anywhere. Thus, Tibet, drama-free.

By bus the terrain is negotiated at a measured pace, crawling at times along a faint outline of road submerged in ice. Occasionally we'd take a bend in the tundra and the roof would lift off, unveiling jagged ribbons of 6,000-meter Himalayan canines. Elsewhere, the landscape was steppe-like with an impressive scale. It's big sky country, presented in a pallet of simple pastels.

When the pavement ended, the going got rough, and the road regressed to a denuded state of moonscape. The most precarious sections were deeply rutted, thawing mud, well suited for swallowing up rear axles. I witnessed half a dozen trucks fallen prey - laying sideways or capsized on the shoulder, the drivers asleep inside guarding their freight.

How do people live up here?? At 6:30am the quiet world was still asleep. Yak herds sat motionless, awaiting the sun's encouragement to begin nibbling at permafrost. Tibetan outposts were neatly laid out in boxes of stones, with colorfully decorated wooden window frames punched through. The Tibetans themselves, many of them cowboys in their own Wild West, could be mistaken for Native Americans insofar as their Mongoloid features and long, cinder-black hair. It's not an easy life they lead, but there's certainly no shortage of cultural and scenic wealth.