Far Eastern Economic Review - January 30, 1997

In the gathering dusk, a young herdsman casts stones with a canvas sling to gather his flock for the evening. He pauses to watch as a pair of travellers approach cross the vast, empty plain surrounding his camp a white yak-skin tent and two stone enclosures for the animals.

With the temperature dipping towards freezing, the man finally gives a mute wave of invitation, indicating that it would be wise to give his guard dog a wide berth. The burly brown animal remains quiet under its master's eye, but its bulk brings to mind the Tibetan mastiff's famed ferocity. Setting his sling aside. the man pulls back his tent flap and ushers his guests in.

The interior is like thousands of other nomads' tents that dot the plains and valleys of Tibet. Seven family members gather near a makeshift stove which protects the interior against the cold outside. They sit on the open ground or on heavy furs which double as blankets. The pungent smell of yak butter permeates the air sweet and rancid at the same time while the flickering of cream-coloured yakbutter candles casts a soft light on the scene.

Two women tend the flames and offer steaming cups of yak-butter tea. A bowl of hot oil sits on the stove, into which they place pieces of pasty dough. The bread is soon ready some of it twisted and pretzel-like. some flat like a thick crepe and is served with yak-milk cheese.

The 25-year-old host spins sheep wool with a simple, hand-operated spool, while an older relative prepares tsampo, the herdsman's staple. The ingredients for this delicacy barley flour and water are widely available on the plains. Preparation is straightforward. too: Mash into a grainy, brownish-grey ball, and eat.

The family lives on a vast plain north of Lhasa, near a 113-kilometre-long saltwater lake called Nam-tso. Locals say there are no Han Chinese in the area, making it one of the least infiltrated regions so close to Lhasa.

Change is gradually seeping into this part of Tibet, though, fuelled by a mixture of government policy and economic transition. The locals are fortunate in a few respects: Trucks are more and more numerous, increasingly available to the wealthier herdsman. And, notes a German graduate student doing research in the area, the Chinese authorities have sought to gain support on the steppes by exempting nomads from taxes.

But social and economic pressures are severe. Though the high plains don't suffer from the crime and unemployment that troubles Lhasa, incomes are around half the level of Tibet's cities. Chinese authorities have banned polyandry - the traditional practice of women taking several husbands. Polyandry used to promote large, cohesive clans, and the ban despite spotty enforcement has complicated family structures.

This particular family consists of two men, two women and three children ranging in age from two years to 10. It boasts seven yaks, worth around 2,000 renminbi ($241) a head, and larger numbers of sheep and goats still a relatively small herd for this region.

Tibetan families move from their summer camps to autumn ones at a time set by local authorities. The autumn camps are occupied for only a short time before families settle into the winter camps at lower elevations and in more sheltered areas. The plain lies at 4,500 metres, and although the sunlight and crystal-clear skies are a delight for visitors, the early-morning chill is a harsh reminder that the summer is over and it's time to find more hospitable ground.

On the day of the migration, the yaks and sheep are moving across the plains by early morning. The pace is brisk, despite the tattered canvas sneakers the men wear. With their thick sheep-wool shawls, the family members are well-equipped to ward off the cold, though the children's faces are chafed red and raw. The yaks are burdened with everything from the heavy tent to the butter churn to the all-important yak-dung patties that serve as fuel.

The trip will take the family to the edge of Nam-tso Lake. The visitors, though, are heading further. So after a morning of walking, they catch a ride in a passing truck, where they share the back with a nomad, a goat carcass and several bales of wool. With a smile and a wave, the herdsman bids them farewell.

Ben Dolven