Zeku

Photo: Horse-trading, or a festival before a race, #1 Zeku (July, 2010).

Photo: Horse-trading, or a festival before a race, #2 Zeku (July, 2010).

Photo: Horse-trading, or a festival before a race, #3 Zeku (July, 2010).

Photo: Horse-trading, or a festival before a race, #4 Zeku (July, 2010).

Photo: Horse-trading, or a festival before a race, #5 Zeku (July, 2010).

Photo: Sander getting dropped off in Zeku (August, 2010).

Sander and I loved Henan. Only later did we realize that most of the people we thought were Tibetan were actually Mongolians who had, over time, adopted many Tibetan ways, making them difficult to tell apart. I will not claim to be able to make the distinction between Amdo Mongolians and Amdo Tibetans in the Mongolian county of Henan. But we loved Henan. In Henan, after a long and arduous journey getting there, we were finally able to relax in a fascinating and diverse atmosphere. We were hungry for diversity. But after ten days in Henan we hopped on a bus for Zeku.

Photo: Binguan night lights in Zeku (August, 2010).

Zeku is a Tibetan town about an hour's drive northwest from Henan. In Zeku, just beyond the yaks on the road, Sander and I were the only two to get off the bus. It was hot, dry, dusty. We threw on our backpacks as the bus took off for Xining, and headed into town. We passed two horses hitched to a post. All that was missing were bouncing tumbleweeds.

Photo: Binguan (guesthouse) in Zeku where we stayed (August, 2010).

Both of us were looking for the Chinese characters for binguan, which means "guesthouse", which means "cheap hotel". We didn't see any for the longest time. But when we stopped to rest and ask for directions, the door we stepped through was an internet cafe. The woman running the place pointed across the street. Down the side alley, now blantantly obvious, were four binguans. We took the first.

Typical of China, the rooms were simple: two beds with thick quilts and flat pillows, a TV (maybe it worked, maybe it didn't), two chairs, a tea table, a night stand, a light in the ceiling, and a little coal stove. There was a community toilet outside and a community washroom down the hall. It had running water: it ran out a spout from a hanging bucket. It was cool. We liked this place, but elected to stay two nights instead of four.

Zeku, like the rest of the China we've seen, appeared to have received an enormous stimulus package from the government and put many people to work. It has been transforming towns like this, as well as the country as a whole, resulting in what appears to be an economic boom of sorts. It's amazing! But staying in Zeku at this time was like living inside a construction site. In Henan, the construction was taking place on the outskirts of town, so we were able to relax. But in Zeku, construction was taking place outside and inside. It wasn't fun, mainly, I think, because the first eight days of our journey was so intense it was like traveling inside one of these hurried Chinese construction sites. We needed to get away from that. From this.

Photo: Herding young yaks into a police blockade, Zeku (August, 2010).

Nevertheless, after settling in and eating lunch at a Hui restaurant, we headed out to explore the town. It was construction all over. But at the west end of town was a hill covered in prayer flags. They were prayer flags like we've never seen. Some were like a 100 feet long! We photographed and filmed like crazy. On the far side of the hill the steppe opened up to clusters of tents, and herds of yaks, horses, and sheep. Sander and I sat and enjoyed the view. The grasslands, the mountains, the clans herding hundreds and hundreds of animals over miles and miles. Gorgeous!

Photo: Sander turning a huge prayer-wheel near the mound of Tar-choks in Zeku (August, 2010).

Photo: Scene and yak-dung mound at the Tar-choks, Zeku (August, 2010).

Photo: Stupa at the Tar-choks, Zeku (August, 2010).

Photo: Detail of the Tar-choks in Zeku (August, 2010).

Photo: Woman walking clockwise around Zeku Tarchoks and the girls who flirted with Sander (August, 2010).

The next day after eating breakfast in our room, I went back out onto the street only to discover that, contrary to the guidebooks I'd brought, there were no longer any busses to Tongde, the next town on our planned journey. Were we unable to get to Tongde, we might have to return to Xining the way we came. We didn't want that. I asked around. Eventually, I was told by a bank officer that we could take a bus to Heri (pronounced "Hor"). Heri was about 41 kilometers from Tongde. Given the efficiency of the Chinese transportation system, we figured that there must be a bus from Heri to Tongde. An unreliable source confirmed that there was indeed a bus. I told Sander. He said, "Let's go for it!" I told him that I was told that the bus will be out here at 10:00 am. We packed and checked out.

Photo: Zeku street scene (August, 2010).

The bank officer walked us to the bus and introduced us to the driver. Because no tickets were being sold and payment was only being accepted right before departure, no seats were claimed until then. But the bus would not be leaving until 2:20 pm. So Sander and I dropped our packs and were about to settle in for a long wait. The driver suggested we place our packs on the seats and he would watch them. We did and decided to go journal in a restaurant. But half an hour later, Sander noticed that the bus wasn't there. Our hearts raced. But this sort of thing often happens in China. The driver told us where he would be departing from. So we went to look for him and sure enough, there he was.

Photo: Tents and herds of yaks, horses, and sheep on the edge of town.

But this was a strange day. The police, for reasons I never understood, blocked off the entire intersection at the center of town for hundreds of yards and for hours. At times it was funny watching them and the herders trying to control unruly yaks that didn't understand they couldn't pass through. Then the police kept moving the parked traffic around. This meant that Sander and I spent the day tracking and retracking down the bus. In the end, however, we found the bus for the fourth time and loaded in, in front of our packs, with half a dozen Tibetans. The bank officer came to make sure we made it onto the bus. After the bus spent another 30 minutes driving around looking for more passengers, we were off across the steppe once again west for Heri.

Photo: Our bus to Heri (August, 2010).