The Long Road West to Darchen

By Tsering — Founder of Tibet Jewels

We left Lhasa before the sun. The white walls of the Potala Palace were still grey in the dark as our old vehicle rolled out of the city and turned west. Drolma fell asleep against the window within the hour. Awang, who has made this journey twice, simply watched the road with the calm of a man who already knows what is coming.

Ahead of us lay more than a thousand kilometers of high plateau. This is the part of a pilgrimage that no one photographs — the long, quiet in-between. But I have come to believe the road itself is part of the prayer.

The Roof of the World

By midday the land had opened into something almost too big to hold. Brown grasslands ran flat to the horizon, then lifted suddenly into snow peaks. We passed black yak-hair tents, herds of yaks moving like slow shadows, and lakes so blue they did not look real. Up here the sky is not above you — it is all around you, and it turns everything small.

Counting the Road

There is little to do on a long drive but sit with your own mind, and the mind can be a restless traveler. So I did what my grandmother taught me: I let a mala move slowly through my fingers, one bead at a time.

I had brought the 108-bead camel bone mala from our workshop — a long, plain string made for exactly this kind of road. One hundred and eight beads, one hundred and eight breaths, and the miles began to pass more gently. At the end of the mala hangs a small phurba, the ritual dagger, which is traditionally believed to cut through fear and clear away the obstacles on one's path. Holding it, I felt my worries about the walk ahead loosen, just a little. This is the quiet work Tibetan jewelry is really made for — not to be looked at, but to be held when the road is long.

A Stop at the Mani Stones

In the late afternoon we stopped where thousands of flat stones had been piled into a long wall beside the road, each one carved by hand with prayers. This is a mani wall.

We walked around it slowly, keeping it on our right, the way it is done. I added a small stone of my own to the pile and turned the bracelet on my wrist three times — my yak bone and Dzi agate bracelet, the one that has walked every road with me. The yak bone for gratitude, the Dzi agate eye for protection. A small habit, but on a journey like this, small habits become anchors.

Awang and the Dice of Fate

Back on the road, Drolma grew quiet. "Do you think we'll be changed by it?" she asked. "By walking around Kailash?"

Awang answered before I could. He told us that before his very first kora, years ago, an old lama had rolled the sacred dice for him — the mo, our tradition of reading a journey's omens in the throw of the dice. "The dice said the road would be hard but the ending good," he laughed. "Both were true."

In my own bag I carried a small dice mala, its beads carved like tiny dice — a reminder that our steps are, in a way, both chosen and destined. We decided to make this walk. And yet it feels as if this Year of the Horse had been waiting for us all along. Fate and choice, turning together like beads on a string.

"We don't walk around the mountain to change it," I said at last. "We walk to let it change us." Drolma nodded and looked out at the darkening sky. Some questions are meant to be carried, not answered.

The First Sight

On the third day, it happened. Awang leaned forward and pointed. "There."

Far ahead, above the brown hills, a single peak rose — perfectly shaped, capped in white, standing alone. Mount Kailash. For a moment no one spoke. Drolma pressed her hands together. My own eyes stung, and I could not fully explain why. Kailash is believed by many to be the center of the world, sacred at once to four faiths. Pilgrims say the mountain has a way of looking back at you. It was no longer a dream or a drawing. It was right there.

Darchen Ahead

By nightfall the lights of Darchen appeared — the small, windswept town at the foot of the mountain, where every pilgrim gathers before the walk begins. We were tired, dusty, and quietly overjoyed. Tomorrow we would rest, breathe the thin air, and prepare.

I will write to you from Darchen.

From my homeland, to your hands.