There are certain opportunities every traveler dreams of:
a lonely walk down an empty beach, stumbling across an unknown waterfall, being invited to the home of a traditional family for a traditional dinner, feeling utterly remote from your world...
In Western Sichuan there are no beaches, the waterfalls are frozen half the year, and a traditional dinner is sure to involve Yak milk tea, a fate I would wish upon nobody. And in today's world where the idea of 'remoteness' is a precious commodity that hordes of people pay millions of dollars to claim, having a truly quiet, reflective, unique experience is priceless.
Being in Western Sichuan (not in the 1 million strong 'small town' of Kangding but in the mountains further West) is the furthest I have yet felt from myself. The landscape alone affords a new sense of understanding of earth. That some of the most beautiful places can be the most rugged seems a strange blessing and a curse--it will be there longer, for more generations to enjoy but precious few will know the beauty. That this beautiful place is merely a rough habitat in which some resilient Tibetan/Sichuanese eek out an existence, is a testament to the power of the mind and body. The fact that, as I puffed away in an elevation sick daze at around 12,000 feet, the locals easily accomplished their daily chores done is boggling.
My friend Emily and I spent around one week in Western Sichuan, an area know as Kham and part of Tibet as Tibetans understand it (ignore those map drawings behind the Chinese curtain!). It is said that if you want to go see the real Tibet, you ought to consider coming to Kham (and Amdo in Western Qinghai) as it is out of the direct eyesight of the Chinese authorities. It is assumed (perhaps correctly) that outsiders are so intent upon speaking for Tibet proper, and that most pro-Tibet movements are formed there, that the authorities need pay little heed to the activities inside these remote regions. Consequently, there is little Han Chinese influence (ie. Western Sichuan does NOT resemble every other major Chinese city, while apparently Lhasa in Tibet is beginning to) and one feels like they are a little closer to the elusive 'truth'.
But if the relative low profile of this region doesn't keep people away, than the rugged roads (at least 5 hours from the high grasslands to the next major city) certainly do. And if Chinese migrants have any visions of colonizing this area, they had better dream on. The rugged ground surface and rough wind/sun/heat/cold make it an agricultural nightmare. The people of Western Sichuan subsist mainly on Yak in all forms--tea, milk, butter, meat, you name it.
However, what is most fascinating about the people of this region (and I am sure most apparent in my pictures) is how utterly cool they are. A smart mix of Tibet styles (some of the fabrics on the lapels resemble a cross between Indian and Chinese silk work), minority wear (long wool coats) and, well, cowbody hipness (Cowboy hats, sunglasses, motorcyles with tassles, cowskulls on the front bumper). The people of Tagong Grassland area in Western Sichuan are the epitome of cool. No American cowboy, no hot rod racer, no bedouin has anything on them. Take a look at the pictures in my photo gallery.
Finally, my trip to Western Sichuan provided insight into another interesting phenomenon starting in China. Much like in 1950's America, in 2000's China the Chinese are embracing the road trip. Although while in Tagong we felt very far from what we recognized as 'China', China continually sought us out in the form of 15 car strong caravans with occupants eager to take OUR picture. If you want proof of a changing China, the best place to look is in the most remote corners. If there are Chinese traveling to these rough 4x4 regions as tourists, things are in fact modernizing. What a crazy place.