Sichuan-Tibet Episode Three: Entering the Tibetan World at Zhongdian
What is Tibet?
This might seem like a silly question, yet the varieties of possible answers might surprise you.
First, there's the simplest explanation. Tibet is the name of an "Autonomous Region" within the People's Republic of China, similar in stature to other autonomous regions such as Xinjiang and Inner Mongolia.
Yet how Tibetan is the Tibet Autonomous Region? Many Tibetans and outsiders alike claim that the Chinese government has promoted the settlement of Han Chinese within the region in order to dilute the percentage of ethnic Tibetans. The Chinese dispute this, yet there's no question that Tibetans comprise a significantly smaller portion of the population in their own province since their "liberation" by the Communist Chinese government in 1951. And, like all regions in China, Tibet's political leadership is appointed in Beijing, thousands of miles away.
(Map of Tibet from Tibet's Wikipedia entry)
So if Tibet isn't really wholly Tibetan, does "Tibet" exist beyond its present borders? The answer, as I found out as I traveled northwest to Zhongdian from Lijiang, is an unequivocal yes. Zhongdian, recently christened "Shangri-La" in a Chinese government inspired effort to attract more tourism, represents the beginning of the Tibetan world. For the next nine days, I would travel in cities that were either partially or totally Tibetan, yet I remained completely outside of the Tibet Autonomous Region.
Zhongdian follows the peculiar Yunnan tradition of comprising a bland, featureless "new town" to stand aside its decidedly more interesting old town. According to Lonely Planet, construction of the new town has been fueled by an rise in tourism, which if true seems to be a perfect illustration of Chinese backward logic. Noticing that tourists are attracted to the old wooden buildings, monasteries, and cobblestone streets of the old town, the Chinese government builds an adjacent city which....lacks all of these charming characteristics. Socialist town planning apparently has outlasted the economic system it was named for.
(photo of Zhongdian's new town by Flickr user dan-m)
The old town lies about three kilometers from the bus station, so I decided to hoof it to the guesthouse I had circled on my guidebook map. After about ten minutes, I felt lightheaded and short of breath, the first signs that Zhongdian's altitude (nearly 10,000 feet) was beginning to affect me. My brisk walk slowed, and only forty-five minutes later did I finally spot the old town. Like Columbus spotting land.
From a walk around the old town, I could see that Zhongdian's planners have tried to replicate Lijiang's success. Ersatz tea and minority clothing shops abounded, and the town square consisted of several booths manned by minority women (mostly Naxi and Tibetan) selling either hand-made jewelry or barbequing skewers of meat. Travelers, though, were conspicuously few in number. I walked about freely and my only interruptions came from friendly boys shouting "Hello!" to me as I strode past.
Zhongdian's most prominent sight is its monastery, a large religious structure on the outskirts of the new city. I didn't go, though, preferring the sleepy atmosphere of the old town. I also had a job to do. I had heard rumors that roads to Litang, my main destination on the Sichuan-Tibet Highway, were clogged with landslides. I had also heard that due to the upcoming Litang Horse Festival would make it impossible for me to find accommodation in the town without camping equipment, which I had no intention to buy or carry around. Should I continue on my trip? Or should I give up and buy a flight to Chengdu? I decided I had to find the answers to these questions before I went any further on my trip.
I wasn't alone in worrying about the route. Back in Lijiang, Michael and I had met an American who introduced himself as Dumpster, "Dumpy for short." Disheveled and unshaven, Dumpster seemed exactly like the sort of person I'd normally avoid: a burned-out loser who landed in Asia seeking cheap girls and drugs. I eyed him warily.
Yet Dumpster turned out to be sensible and wise, unassuming and nice. He certainly had his eccentricities: years of traveling alone on the barest of budgets conditioned him to tolerate sleeping under awnings and in bus stations, and his name derived from his propensity to find sustenance among other people's garbage. Yet Dumpster was good company, interesting without being pedantic, and remarkably careful about his diet. I spotted him in Zhongdian and had a beer with him a bit later on.
(photo of Dumpster in Lijiang by Michael Moewe)
Dumpy was convinced the road to Litang was fraught with trouble, and thus decided to alter his route. He pulled out a Lonely Planet and marked a town roughly half-way between Zhongdian and Chengdu, his eventual destination. That the town merited no mention in the Lonely Planet nor in the conversations of anyone either of us had met bore little meaning to him. "They'll have a awning somewhere".
I began to worry somewhat. Dumpster, a man who has spent a considerable amount of time traveling cheaply in countries like Indonesia and Bolivia, felt travel to Litang would be too risky. I imagined myself huddled up next to Tibetan peasants in an impromptu tent pitched on the side of the road next to a broken-down bus.
Fortunately, the wisdom of crowds prevailed. Several other sensible people reassured me that the road was fine, just in poor condition. The trip would be uncomfortable but safe. Others added that Litang would have plenty of accommodation and that the only question would be how inflated the prices would be during festival time. Dumpster, for all his wisdom, was outnumbered here. I made up my mind. To Litang I would go.
But then I still had some time in Zhongdian. Instead of visiting any recommended sites, I spent a few hours traveling around on city buses, getting a feel for the town's demographics. Women in costume (Naxi, I think) carried bundles on their backs while Tibetan men in hats chatted away and smoked. Small children greeted me with hellos, more friendly than predatory. A city in thin air, overcast and damp in late July, and with an atmosphere covered with particle dust from nearby construction sites, seemed to me far friendlier and warmer than the more comfortable cities I had visited earlier on the trip.
Roofs in Zhongdian
Tibetan man on bus
Tibet has many names, the Land of Snows and Shanghri-La being two of the best known. A third name I heard struck me as the most apt: the rooftop of the world. Like urban apartment-dwellers who sneak up to the roof of their building for a peaceful evening of star-gazing, the Tibetan rooftop seems a place well-suited for a laid-back break from the lower places in the world.
