A Lady I Met At Qinghai

May is not the perfect month for traveling to Qinghai, a northwest province of the country, but I did not hesitate to accept the invitation from a friend to go there for an 18-day semi-independent tour.

I tried to invite other friends and family members to go with me. They declined outright because of their worries about their physical fitness and the risk of altitude reactions during the long journey. I guess another reason is that it is not yet a popular tourist destination. A friend has asked, ‘It’s so economically behind there; apart from deserts, what else is it famous for?’ Quite true, I knew nothing about the province either.

However, after the trip, I can tell the friend that there are deserts, truly magnificent ones, and whirlwinds that sweep across the barren land every day. There are also great temples and mosques that are full of bright colours and elaborate decorations. I experienced rich cultures, met friendly locals, tasted exotic food, used makeshift toilets, immersed myself in expansive wilderness, listened to the sounds of sand, took a moment to relax in the complete silence of a sacred lake, yelled at the emerald-like salt lakes, cruised through a heavy snowstorm, bounced around in a light T-shirt at the snowy peak, and almost got sunburned. Except for the sunburn, I surely would love to re-experience all these again.

The biggest problem after the trip is organising the photos taken. I always take photos with my eyes and hands only, without any help from the mind. So, to some people, many of my photos are basically rubbish. Often after trips, I frequently wonder why I spend so much time in photography, especially since they are seldom shared or looked at again once uploaded to my computer. A friend did ask the exact question. Upon reflecting on it, I reckon that I cherish the beauty of the world, and taking photos allows me to express that admiration. It becomes my ritual. It reminds me of their transient appearance in the passage of time.

Browsing through the 8000-plus photos taken in this trip, I see that I have taken some portraits of the locals casually. When I summon up the memories of the trip, I realise they were taken at some of the most beautiful encounters in the whole trip. 

While photographing people turning the prayer wheels, a little girl toddled into my sight. It was a good opportunity, so I moved the camera to capture her. While thinking that she was beyond the reach of my camera lens, she suddenly dashed wobbly towards me. Well, it was not me she approached, but a woman walking nearby. The woman glanced at me as she passed and walked towards a long bench some distance away. I assumed she was the mother. The little girl followed her, much like a lamb following a shepherd, while still pausing to explore anything that caught her attention. They rested on the bench and were soon joined by an elderly woman and another little girl of about six or seven years old. Observing them, I wondered about their relationships. After a few moments, they prepared to leave. The woman secured the toddler to her back with a meh dai, which reminded me of my own mother. One by one, they departed. As the woman passed me, she looked at me as if she wanted to say something.

At that moment, I recognised her. She was sitting on the open ground near to the long prayer-wheel corridor, sharing a cup noodle with the toddler. She gazed at me and whimpered something incomprehensible to me as we walked past her. I turned back, looked and felt sorry for them. They seemed unwashed for some time, and their heavily stained jackets made me feel uneasy. I still remember the two big running snots under the toddler’s nose and the noodles that stuck on her chapped lips. The woman kept whimpering. I stopped, but my friend eyed me not to. I ignored her and walked back to the woman, fished out my wallet and gave her something she probably wanted. I looked at the little girl again, and her stare simply made my eyes wet. The woman smiled and uttered a bunch of words that I did not understand except the phrase ‘xiè xie’. As I do not speak Putonghua or her language, I just smiled, nodded, waved my hand and left. My friend was not pleased, but I signalled her to leave me alone.

She told me later not to do that again, as that will attract many beggars to swamp me in poor places. Of course, I know that. I just cannot help following my heart. Gratefully, she was the first and the last woman to ask for something from me in this whole journey. No children did the same either. Actually, most little children I met were clothed like princes and princesses. But that makes me feel even worse for this woman and her toddler.

Things have changed and progressed so much in this country. I hardly saw people begging for money even when I travelled to some economically undeveloped provinces in the past few years. These days, children are the most important assets of families, and they are provided with the best things the families can support. I wonder how this toddler will think of herself, growing up so differently from the others, when she starts to meet friends at school soon later. One thing I am sure of is that she has a mother who loves her family.