Crossing the Road

The Tibetan part of Chengdu is totally different from the rest of the city. Instead of street after street of identical women's clothes shops, sportswear, computer repairs, and non-descript cement apartment blocks, it is a riot of colour in a haze of smoking insence. Vibrant in every sense of the word.

I have a cooking class at a guesthouse here at 2pm. Timothy puts me on a bus near the university that I've never been on before, one with no fare box but rather a young woman in uncomfortable looking heels collecting money in exchange for little paper tickets. As we are pulling away from the curb Timothy begs the driver through the open window to please help me get off at the right place. After a month of travelling together he has a pretty good idea of how often I get lost from missing my stop on busses.

Though most of the streets the bus travels I have never been on before, this is one destination it is impossible to miss. The transition from 'modern China' to 'old Tibet' is striking. As soon as I see the first wine-robed monk spinning his tiny prayer wheel I know I am close. Shortly after, shiny glass display windows give way to dark entries overflowing with sundries of Tibetan Buddhist life...prayer flags, beads, wheels, idols, offering bowls, jewellery, cushions, clothes, industrial blenders for yak butter tea.

Not only the driver, but also the ticket woman very kindly help me off the bus at the correct stop. Though I am near a popular tourist area, I am the only tourist to be seen. Riot police however are out in force. This is the Tibetan new year and the area is tightly patrolled. The women shopping have long braids strung with silver and beads, lined wrap-dresses that emphasize their slender height. Many of them carry infants. The men are mostly in monks robes, elaborate saffron hats all variations on a theme. Both are oblivious to the bored looking soldiers with loaded automatic weapons slung casually over their shoulders up and down the streets. Their faces are as different from each other as mine are from either of theirs. I feel as if I have entered another country entirely, just by crossing the road.