The narrow streets of Labrang

If you can’t get to the great Buddhist lamaseries of Tibet, or if you pale at the thought of extreme high-altitude meditation, the Labrang Lamasery is probably the next best thing. With ancient temples, stupas and prayer halls nestled in among towering peaks and some 800 Buddhist monks robed in red roaming the streets, Labrang has all of the grandeur for which Tibet is famous, without the difficulty of access.

Located in Xiahe (near the Sangke Grasslands) at an altitude just under 3000 metres, Labrang is the most important monastery for Tibetan Buddhism outside of Tibet proper. It was founded in 1709 by the First Jamyang Zhaypa, Ngawang Tsondru, a disciple of the Fifth Dalai Lama, and is one of the few monasteries for the Gelukpa (Yellow Hat) school.

A member of the Yellow Hat Sect at prayer

A monk looking on from the roof of a hall

A Tibetan woman heading home after praying

The monastery complex is huge, with 18 halls and six colleges spread over seven square kilometres. It is surrounded by prayer wheels, which pilgrims spin clockwise on their way into a temple or as they walk around the sacred buildings of the monastery.

Prayer wheels at rest

A monk spinning the prayer wheels

At its height in the 1950s, the monastery housed 4000 Tibetan, Han Chinese and Mongolian monks. However, the whole place was shut down by the Communist Government in 1958. The monastery’s fortunes declined further during the Cultural Revolution, and many of the buildings were vandalised. Labrang only reopened as a functioning monastery in 1980, and rebuilding from the destruction of the Cultural Revolution continues today.

One of the two main stupas in the monastery

Young monks rearranging their robes in the wind

Monks join the monastery as young as 10 years of age

Many of the temples are closed to independent visitors, so we joined one of the group tours guided by English-speaking monks. Our visit happened to coincide with the arrival of a highly respected Tibetan lama and teacher, so we felt bad that our poor guide, who was extremely patient and calm, was stuck with us while all the other monks got to pay their respects to the visiting teacher.

Monks making their way to see the arrival of the lama

Waiting for a glimpse of the great teacher

Bowing as the lama drove out

We insisted our guide go over, but he just stared from a distance

Our guide took us through the main prayer hall, a huge room with row after row of prayer mats for the monks, colourful ribbons cascading from the roof, walls dotted with rolls of sutras and numerous rooms with statues of the Buddha. The monks in their yellow hats kneeling in that smoky, dimly lit hall, would have made for some great pictures, but (fortunately for the monks wanting to pray in peace) photography was not allowed.

The hall was filled with the scent of melted yaks’ butter from the hundreds of candles and urns placed around the hall (imagine the world’s biggest bucket of hot-buttered popcorn and you’ll get the idea). Yaks’ butter seems a versatile product – not only is it good for tea, candles and urns, but festival sculptures are also made from the stuff. And in a pretty impressive way, too.

A sculpture like this takes hundreds of hours to make but will only last a few months

I can’t believe it’s butter!

MEAT!!!

Our waitress set down a platter of mutton, a stack of the thin tissues that pass for napkins in China, and an elbow-length disposable plastic glove, then walked out of our tent. There were no plates or forks. No chopsticks. No instruction manual.

We eventually figured out that the glove was for holding the greasy hunk of meat, the knife played its usual role, and the rest of the work was performed by the God-given utensils at the ends of our arms.

Thus we were introduced to the finer points of Tibetan cuisine – meat, milk tea, meat, butter tea, meat . . . meat. Okay, that’s probably not fair, but it is true that the mountainous lands inhabited by Tibetans, hidden under snow for much of the year, yield little in the way of fruit and vegetables and a lot in the way of animal products. Certainly where we were, in the Sangke Grasslands outside the town of Xiahe, the focus was on local products.

Our tent’s the one with the pointy roof

Although it’s not in (or even especially near) Tibet proper, Xiahe is a Tibetan village and the surrounding grasslands are important for Tibetan graziers – another bit of diversity in the ethnic salad bowl that is Gansu province – diversity that was conspicuously on display on the drive up.

We began the day in Lanzhou, a mostly Han Chinese city of 10 million people and the capital of Gansu province, where we were taking some time off the wall to rest and see a few sights. As we drove up through the foothills, we passed numerous mosques, many of them new, constructed by people of the Hui minority, the Muslim people of north-central China. Gradually we left the mosques and minarets behind, the valleys opened up into subalpine grasslands, and we began to see colourful Tibetan tents along the rivers and shaggy yaks wandering alongside the roads.

Yakety Yak, Yakety Yak

We think the one with a white face might be half-yak, half-cow, but we’re not exactly yaksperts

The tents (and yaks) reached maximum density when we got to Sangke, at an elevation of about 3000 metres. The grasslands are among the largest in the area and, together with the nearby Labrang Buddhist monastery, make Xiahe an important tourist destination.

The tent village at Sangke Grasslands

Although the place was mostly deserted when we were there, there are dozens of tents available for rent by the day or hour, each of them fully equipped with couches, TV, DVD, home theatre system, and most importantly (to Chinese men at least), ashtrays. Then it’s order a few huge slabs o’ meat; slip a disc into the player; and eat, drink, smoke and play cards to your heart’s delight (if that’s your idea of fun).

It looks like the wall may not do us in for good … not this time, anyway. The last you heard was post-X-ray in Beijing where we were told Brendan’s foot injury was a possible stress fracture. Both X-rays and MRI, however, did not show any clear break, though there was visible damage to the bone of his right third toe.

Break or not, at least four weeks off the wall was recommended, so we decided it was better to come home where we could meet with his previous foot surgeon and work out a physiotherapy programme that would have us back on the wall as soon as possible.

Don’t worry, honey, I’ll carry the bags. Photo by George Nicholas

We also thought, having eaten healthy Chinese food for weeks on end, that it would be beneficial for us to slip a few pies and sausage rolls into our diet to put some weight on the big guy, who was rapidly losing it.

Beef and curry, mmmm

Naturally, our family and friends were eager to see us – just as eager as they are to see us finish the walk. But there was one furry little creature who was especially excited to have us home.

Right on the kisser. Photo by Penny Jost

We’ve said all we need to say about the foot for the time being, so it’s catch-up time – starting with the next story, we’ll be posting our backlog from the last three weeks, picking up where we left off in eastern Gansu province.

And now, back to our regular programming.

A mock temple commemorating the history of the lost Romans of Yongchang County

We weren’t sure if it was a vicious rumour or a thrilling, little-known secret. Could there really be a whole village of blonde-haired, blue-eyed Chinese in Yongchang County in Gansu, descendants of Romans who settled in the area?

In 2005, Xinhua published an article, “Romans in China stir up controversy,” detailing the supposed history of ancient Romans settling in this part of Gansu. In a 1957 book, Homer Hasenflug Dubs, professor of Chinese history at Oxford University, argued that some Roman prisoners taken by the Parthians in 53 BC eventually made their way east to China, where they took up arms against the Han Dynasty and ultimately settled permanently near Yongchang. According to Xinhua, there is scientific work being done to establish a DNA link between villagers in the area and the “Romans,” but so far as we’re aware no results have been reported.

Yet rumours still circulate of curly, blonde-haired Chinese with aquiline noses in one particular mountain village called Liqian.

We thought the tales were at best an exaggeration, at worst Gansu’s version of the Bermuda Triangle. But we had a day off in Wuwei (a mere two-hour drive away) and decided we wouldn’t forgive ourselves if we let this opportunity slip by.

After two attempts at finding a driver (we ditched our first one because his car was too noisy), we then had to try to explain to him and his friend, in our best Chinese, that we wanted to go to a village about 20 kms south of Yongchang. Did we know the name? Well, we knew the ancient name. Did we know any more about how to get there? No. What did we want to do when we got there? Drive around then go back to Wuwei.

Finally: Is there something distinctive about this place? We told the driver about the rumours and the ancient Roman ruins. Aha, he had also heard about it! He opened his mobile phone and made a few calls, stopped at a few roadside fruit stalls to ask directions, spoke to a group of men playing chess on the footpath, and finally found the southbound road that we were to take.

But first he drove us by the town of Yongchang. There, close to the centre, were three huge statues, one obviously of a Roman man. The trail heats up.

Well, honey, that guy on the right sure looks like a Roman

When we got to the village of Liqian, our driver found a village elder who took us to some recently discovered ruins that one group of archeologists believed to belong to Romans, though this theory has its detractors.

Could these ruins be the foundations of a lost Roman city?

Then he took us to a plaque housed within a temple (recently constructed) of slightly Doric-looking columns, telling the story of how a group of Romans were captured by the Chinese 2000 years ago and subsequently settled in this part of China (see the picture at the top of this post).

A group of students turned up while we were there, but they seemed more interested in hamming it up for the camera than the history of the area

Though we searched and looked and asked for any local villagers with blonde hair, we didn’t see any and we weren’t shown any. It seems hard to believe that after 2000 years, Roman characteristics could still be evident on the faces of the local people. But you never know what they’re hiding under those hats.

Yan Zheng Qiang (centre) and friends, Liqian village

Sunday night is talent night in Zhangye. From about 8 until 10, performers take the stage in front of a crowd of thousands to strut their stuff. Judges flash their scorecards, and audience members jostle among themselves for a better view. For that final touch of authenticity, there’s an emcee in a gold lamé jacket; but despite the fact we’re in China, no gong.

Introducing your host, CHUCK BARRIS!!!!

The Sunday night talent show is only one of the many fun (and free) activities that seem to take place every night in Zhangye’s bustling public square. On Friday night student performers from Hexi University were onstage, and Saturday seemed to have a rock concert (we were too tired to go out but could hear from our hotel). On one side of the square, there’s a drive-in movie sized TV screen, which was showing the World Cup while we were in town. Just opposite the TV screen, couples and friends play badminton; and across the street, old men fly their kites until well after dark. Everywhere there are people strolling, eating takeaway food and gossiping.

Zhangye’s public square

Then there were the performers. The show started out with some kids doing acrobatics and moved from there to singers and musicians.

An erhu player keeping her focus

The real highlights, however, were provided by the dancers. If you could think of something to dance with (besides a partner), these women were dancing with it.

The feather dancers tickled Brendan’s fancy

Fan dancers in their closing pose

The fabric on the dancers’ sleeves extends more than two metres

Although we couldn’t get close enough to see the scorecards, of course we had our favourites. The saxman playing “Rivers of Babylon” may not have been the most original of the bunch, but maybe because we’re far from home ourselves, he struck a special note for us.

“. . . how can we sing King Alfa song in a straaaaaange land?” (original Melodians’ lyric, adapted from Psalm 137:1)

Caves on the road between Matisi and Jintasi

In the mountains south of Zhangye, caves are not just limited to the religious shrines at Matisi. All around this area, in every valley, there are caves used by farmers, caves used by shepherds, and still more caves used for religious purposes.

We were lucky enough to visit one such group of caves, Jintasi. These highly significant Buddhist caves are not usually open to tourists, but we were able to arrange a private tour. They are about an hour’s motorbike ride from Matisi through mountainous pasture – stunning green, wide open spaces heaven-sent to graziers and their sheep, goats and cattle.

Brendan’s motorbike driver, Hao Wang Tan, and his niuliang (cowboy) hat

To get to Jintasi we drove past several isolated farmhouses, through a few locked gates, over a treacherous rocky road and up a steep climb. Finally we reached a shady spot where we rested among wild strawberries and beneath spruces that were 900 years old, according to our guide, Zhang Xin Ying. He also mentioned that a wild ape-man (a Yeti, though he didn’t use that word) is rumoured to live in the area.

Mr Zhang led us up the hill (and past some cantankerous cattle) to the caves and unlocked them; at least three doors each with multiple locks just to get in.

The entrance to the caves at Jintasi

Mr Zhang was friendly, well-informed, and most of all, passionate about the caves’ history and their preservation. Our Chinese wasn’t good enough to pick up everything he told us, but even the small amount we could understand was intriguing.

Mr Zhang

Jintasi, or Gold Pagoda Temple, was built in the 4th or 5th century as a place of worship and a place of rest for travelers passing along the Silk Road. The caves are believed by some to be older than the Mogao Caves at Dunhuang (see “The Mogao Caves”).

And in some ways, they are even more spectacular than the Mogao Caves, though on a smaller scale. Where Mogao has fantastically detailed wall murals, Jintasi has statues carved from the cave walls – 270 statues between the two caves. There are rows of flying apsaras and bodhisattvas accompanying the larger statues of the Buddha that occupy pride of place on the altars.

We were asked not to take photos in the caves. However, a few of the Jintasi statues that have fallen from the walls have been removed over the years. Some of these are held at the museum at Matisi, where we were allowed to take photos. Imagine about 150 of these decorating a single altar, and you can get some idea of the magnificence of the interior of these small caves.

The head of a flying apsara from Jintasi

A fallen statue of a “thin Buddha”

The view from Mati village

Of all the places in China we could have been stuck waiting for new backpacks, the town of Zhangye must be one of the nicest. It has pedestrian malls and outdoor cafes, a good selection of bars, and a relaxed atmosphere. Zhangye was also an important stopping point on the Silk Road (Marco Polo spent a year here), and it has a number of significant historical attractions.

The most spectacular of these is the Matisi Scenic Area, about 70 kilometres south of town. Within just a few square kilometres, Matisi combines stunning mountain scenery with temple complexes in several distinctive styles, a reflection of the cultural diversity of this part of China.

Yugur minority dancers buying beer before the performance

We headed out to Matisi late in the morning after sorting some of our equipment business and arrived in the early afternoon, just in time for a quick hike. Our first stop was at Shengguo, a Tibetan Buddhist temple built in the 1920s.

Stupas and prayer flags just outside the temple

The temple itself is undergoing restoration, but just inside the temple entrance you can see modern paintings of stories from the Buddha’s life. The paintings are extraordinarily detailed and complex, and include images ranging from tranquil garden settings to bloody battlefield scenes. Naturally, we gravitated toward the violence.

Charge!

The most ancient and most historically important of the temple complexes at the Scenic Area are the Matisi cave temples. These temples, like those at Dunhuang, were carved in the early days of Buddhism’s spread into China. However, unlike at Dunhuang, not only are there temples within the caves at Matisi, there are also elaborate carvings directly on the cliff’s face.

The Matisi cave temples

Carvings like these can be found all around the Matisi area

Unfortunately, we didn’t get a chance to go inside as the caves’ interiors were closed for restoration, but from the outside we did get to see and even photograph some “thousand-buddha” murals, which we were unable to do at Dunhuang.

Though these murals are degraded, it is still possible to see the small variations in pose in each of the images (click for a better view)

By 3 o’clock, afternoon thunderclouds were gathering, so we decided to take a short walk through the forest before calling it a day. As luck would have it, we ran across Wang Shi Hua and his friends and family as they were having a picnic, with just enough time to share a beer before the downpour began.

Mr Wang (sporting the alpine hat), family and friends

We visited the last of the temple complexes, Thousand-Buddha Temple, as we were leaving the following day. Although they are of approximately the same age as the Matisi cave temples, they are decorated in a more contemporary Chinese style and are busy, active places of worship.

The Thousand-Buddha Temple caves

Looking across the cliff from inside one of the eight caves

The Mogao Caves are a reminder that the Silk Road was not simply an important trade route, it was also an avenue for less material exchange. In the second, third and fourth centuries AD, Buddhist monks accompanied traders from India on their Silk Road treks and spread their teachings through China. In 366 AD, a local monk excavated a cave temple for meditation in the cliffs along a river about 25 kilometres southeast of Dunhuang.

Religion and commerce were entwined at Dunhuang, and for the next thousand years rich merchants funded the excavation of additional caves, as well as the painting of murals and the construction of elaborate altars and statues within the caves. Today there are 735 caves at Mogao containing 45,000 square metres of murals and over 240 painted sculptures. It is considered the greatest collection of Buddhist art in China.

Access to the caves is strictly controlled to ensure their preservation, but with a guide you can tour between 12 and 15 of them.

Inside there is enough variety and spectacle to impress the most naïve of tourists (like us) or the most jaded museum hound. Most caves seem to be about 6-8 metres tall, some with A-frame ceilings, some with inverted funnels, all constructed to ensure the structural integrity of the cliffside.

Along the cave walls there are vast murals. Some are elaborate storyboards depicting events in the life of Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha. In other caves there are thousands of tiny Buddha images, each identical in size but with tiny variations in facial expression or pose. Huge painted statues of the Buddha flanked by graceful bodhisattvas sit upon the altars. Carved into the back wall of one cave there is a 34.5 metre high statue of a Buddha, which was commissioned by Wu Zetian, the only female empress in Chinese history.

No photography is allowed inside, as the flashes needed to light the dim interiors degrade the paintings. However, it is possible to photograph a few faded murals outside the entrances to the caves. The images we’ve posted below cannot even begin to hint at the splendour of the artwork within the caves, but we hope you’ll enjoy them.

Flying apsaras are divine dancers and musicians who serve and protect the Buddha

Paintings on the caves’ outer walls have been degraded by time

Apsara above a wooden structure from the Song Dynasty (907-1276)

As our plane descends into Dunhuang we can see traces of the foundations of ancient buildings, ruins that have been preserved by the dry desert air. It’s obvious people have been here for a long time.

The ancient city of Hecang, outside Dunhuang

Even so, it’s hard to imagine living in such a desolate landscape, until the plane turns and we can see the lush greenery of Dunhuang, an oasis city in western Gansu province. We’re spending a few days here before moving on to Jiayuguan to begin our walk.

Dunhuang is famous as the last outpost of Chinese civilisation on the Silk Road. For thousands of years, caravans entered and exited China bearing luxury goods – jade, silk and spices. Most of those caravans would have stopped in Dunhuang.

It’s apparent at a glance what made Dunhuang what it is: water. Snowmelt from the Mingsha Mountains to the south runs off to the plain below, so while Dunhuang is surrounded by barren gravel and dunes, in downtown Dunhuang you can walk or bicycle along shady streets. It’s reasonably cool even in the middle of the afternoon.

Dunhuang’s location between the agricultural areas of the Hexi Corridor in China (where we’ll be starting our walk) and the vast deserts of central Asia made it an important strategic location in the Han Dynasty (202 BC – AD 220), as any party attempting to enter China was compelled to stop in Dunhuang to resupply. In approximately 100 BC, the Han built Yumenguan, also known as the Jade Gate, and Yangguan, or “South Pass,” to defend this strategic location.

Yumenguan is a bumpy three-hour drive from Dunhuang past sand dunes and low-lying craggy mountains. We could see mirages on the horizon, huge lakes of shimmering nothingness.

When we got to the pass, a Chinese tourist group was just leaving and we had the place to ourselves. Yumenguan is an enormous box of rammed loess, and set against the desert sky it’s an impressive sight.

Emma at Yumenguan (Jade Gate Pass)

After two more hours of desert driving we reached Yangguan. The fortress itself is small compared to Yumenguan, but it holds a commanding position on a hilltop.

A sturdy fence protects Yangguan

Below the pass is the small town of Nanhu, whose poplar-lined road separates one-storey white-walled houses and restaurants from acres of vineyards. At about 7 pm, when we stopped for dinner, the street was busy with kids on bikes and women chatting in doorways.

By the time we had finished our meal, our poor driver was keen to get home after eight hard hours of desert driving. But Yangguan was glowing against the Mingsha Mountains as the sun set, and we persuaded him to stop for one last photo.

Yangguan at sunset