Getting to Xiahe wasn’t easy. With no train station it involved an overnight train to Lanzhou, and a beaten old bus from there. The 6 hour bus ride was spent on a seat over one of the back wheels. Why would anyone do that to themselves? Maybe a third of the journey was spent in the air. The road wasn’t the best (nor, to be fair, was it the worst) I’ve ever been on. The landscape changes as the bus heads towards the border with Tibet. Although I wasn’t going to cross over into Tibet this time, I was looking forward to my first taste of Tibetan culture. As Xiahe is home of the Labrang Lamasery, the largest Tibetan monestary outside of Tibet, it is sure to feed (or fuel) any appetite for experiencing this esoteric culture.

First impressions cannot always be trusted. The market place is noisy, with strange smells, piles of rubbish, and beggars who may grab hold and be reluctant to let go. But Xiahe is a people-watcher’s paradise. The scenery is impressive, dry, and desert-like. Mountains surround the town in its dusty basin, providing the backdrop for the pilgrims arriving prostrate, on the final leg of their journey to this holy town. Not many foreigners come to Xiahe. I met John, a Han Chinese student who had spent time in Australia, and whose English was invaluable for a brief introduction to Tibetan Buddhism. New happenings bombard the senses – the chanting, the smell of yak butter tea, the incessant turning of prayer wheels. Xiahe is a truly remarkable place to spend time. Sit back in a roadside café with a cup of yak butter tea and watch the faces go by. The beautiful red-cheeked Tibetan children, the women with their waist-long plaits, the monks in their bright red robes.

Watching the pilgrims arrive on hands and knees in the hostile terrain cannot fail to inspire even the hardiest of unbelievers. The things people can do when they believe. 

As luck would have it, the week I was there, a special visitor arrived. A young boy of 4 years. The living Buddha. Taken from his parents and thrust into a life of religion and study, he is believed to be the incarnation of a great teacher. Queues of pilgrims went on as far as I could see to go and pay respects to the child. One Yuan could be exchanged for a white scarf, and a white scarf could be exchanged for the opportunity to bow in front of the child. This bowed head could in turn be exchanged for a bag of sweets and a pendant with his picture on it. The child innocently played with a yellow toy car as we filed past in front of him, seemingly unaware of his own spiritual importance. Thousands of pilgrims who had traveled hundreds of miles to catch a glimpse of this boy.

It was with a certain sadness that I left this quiet little town in Gansu province. The child won’t ever leave.