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Xiangcheng, Lost Between Two Shangri-Las

There were once good reasons to steer clear of the Tibetan Xiangcheng region of southwestern Sichuan. Before the Chinese Revolution, it was a blank space on most maps. Its reputation for banditry and violence was such that all but the most intrepid of Christian missionaries gave it a wide berth. The commander of a Chinese expedition in 1902 was captured and flayed alive; his skin was put on display in the "Lamasery Museum of curios and wild animals," according to missionary J.H. Edgar.

South of the border in Yunnan Province, old prejudices live on. Locals scowl at the mention of Xiangcheng and suggest the best option is to go straight through without stopping.

And that's exactly what most do, especially as Xiangcheng sits unhappily between the region's two biggest tourist attractions: Zhongdian in Yunnan and the Yading area of Daocheng County in Sichuan. Both claim the title of "Shangri-La," as both provided backdrops to the National Geographic articles later used by James Hilton as inspiration for his mountain paradise in Lost Horizon. For most tourists, Xiangcheng is just a meal-stop between the two Shangri-Las.

Yet for what it lacks in snow-capped peaks, Xiangcheng compensates in pleasures of a more human scale. Once across the border, the bumpy highway from southern Shangri-La plunges into the village of Ranwu, a glistening model of the architecture that sets Xiangcheng apart from all other Tibetan regions. Tibetans habitually build with a greater sense of style than other peoples in China, but the gleaming whitewash, ornate carving and vivid paintwork of Xiangcheng houses are incomparable. To senses dulled by the drab uniformity of Han Chinese villages, the Ranwu valley comes almost as a shock. No two homes are the same, and each is a work of art.

Many locals are ready with an invitation to step inside for a bowl of yak-butter tea——an opportunity to appreciate another stark contrast. The courtyards have a medieval feel. Domestic animals churn mud as they root among wood piles, overlooked by small, high windows that emphasize the solidity of the walls of earth and stone. The interior does little to dispel this impression. From the brightness of the whitewashed outer world, guests step into almost total blackness. The bottom floor is used for storage and shelter for the animals; your host may reach out a hand to guide you to the foot of a wooden staircase set at an alarming angle, or in newer, poorer homes a log with steps cut into it, none more than four inches wide. Going up is a lot easier than coming down: some Tibetans tell a joke about an American who watches a cat descend and copies its method, but assuming this obstacle can be negotiated, it leads onto a dim landing followed by an equally dim space which doubles as kitchen and sitting room. Small, dirty windows filter out much of the daylight, but as eyes adjust, the artistry of this room gradually emerges. The walls are almost entirely obscured by hand-carved cupboards and shelves that, in many cases, are used simply for display purposes, lined with shining brass bowls and pots, images of important lamas and at least one Chairman Mao. The lintels are painted in fading but once-vivid colours, as are the tables that run the full length of benches covered in woven and hand-knotted rugs. But the feeling of great age is entirely misleading: the house is unlikely to be more than 20 years old. As one villager put it, incomes have risen "beyond imagination" since the 1980s, such that most have demolished their old homes and built new ones (it currently costs US$20,000—$30,000 to do this).

A nondescript river valley leads from Ranwu to the county town, itself a rather dreary collection of functional concrete boxes. The heart of the old town has moved up the mountain, where the new Sangpeili Lamasery stands. Life in the county town once revolved almost entirely around this great lamasery, whose importance made it a prime target for the Qing Dynasty government when it decided to bring Xiangcheng to heel. Qing General Zhao Erfeng, the "Butcher," besieged Sangpeili in 1906, ultimately slaughtering all its monk defenders and torching part of the lamasery. What Zhao missed was largely destroyed in a later battle. Only one hall of the original complex remains, a few steps up the hill from the main street. Many of the lamasery's ancient treasures are housed here, crammed into a chaotic and ill-lit space. It’s well worth a visit, though, since few temples have preserved art of such age and quality and the intimacy of the hall allows for unusually close inspection.

But while Sangpeili was once the prime attraction, in the future Xiangcheng is likely to be most famous for an area of quite outstanding natural beauty. About 20 kilometres northwest of the county town, a dirt track turns towards the "Seven Lakes." The name tells you the basics, but it can't convey the unspoiled glory of this pristine series of mountain lakes. At present, the only way in is via a 40-kilometre trek or horse ride, which keeps visitors, and litter, to a minimum. According to the local authorities, however, by the end of next year a new Seven Lakes Road will create the county's first mass tourist attraction. Get there before it happens!