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Don't you just hate those travel articles in which the author tries to impress the reader with his ability to put up with the most uncomfortable situations? Instead of writing about the culture and scenery he is journeying through, the focus instead becomes the writer himself, and tales of his prowess. You know what I mean - how many times have you picked up a book and read on the jacket that the contents will tell you in detail how the author decided to bike through Siberia in winter or walk across the Mekong Delta barefoot? I mean, what's with these guys? I don't know about you, but I feel that this style of self-absorbed writing has gotten out of hand. Having said that, wait till you read this tale of my ultimate bus trip - I should get an award or something. It was the most uncomfortable, longest, excruciatingly irritating bus trip I've ever taken in China, and that's saying a lot. Okay, I'll shut up now about my macho bus-riding skills and tell you about Yushu, a Tibetan cultural realm tucked into extreme southeast Qinghai province, up against the borders of Tibet and Sichuan. Unfortunately (or fortunately, if like me you agree that isolation equals interesting) Yushu has no airport and is a long way from anywhere. The easiest way to get there is from Xining, and as everybody knows, Xining is nowhere. Through the Grasslands to Kham Yushu encompasses both high altitude grasslands and deep valleys separated by towering mountain ranges. The grasslands are inhabited by pastoral nomads and their herds of yak and sheep, while the valleys are speckled with mud and stone villages set amid fields of barley, wheat and corn. While the high grasslands are culturally part of the traditional Tibetan area known as Amdo, the valleys are Khamba in culture. Kham is the Tibetan name for the region now included in western Sichuan, eastern Tibet and part of southeast Qinghai. The Khambas are farmers and their village architecture is, in my view, the most interesting in all the Tibetan realm. While their building styles vary from valley to valley, I find that the Khambas' use of stone and wood in house construction give their dwellings a solid, organic presence. I was delighted to see that the new edition of Lonely Planet, just out last month, has yet again ignored the existence of Yushu. That gives Yushu two more years of anonymity before the next edition has a chance to correct this appalling oversight. For Yushu is a true lost Eden if you are interested in poking around Tibetan monasteries and exploring towns that have never seen tourists. Yushu is the largest town in the county of the same name, and is also known as Yishu in the local dialect of Mandarin, or Jyekun in Tibetan. After the endless bus ride from Xining the town with its 40,000 inhabitants looks like a major metropolis. The population is overwhelmingly Khamba Tibetan, with a smattering of Hui (Chinese Muslim) and Han shopkeepers and traders. Khamba men are distinguished by the red sash they like to wear in their hair, and you'll see them ambling down Yushu's main street or shooting billiards with their buddies. While Yushu town and environs has enough to interest the traveler for several days, it is actually only the largest town in a region that includes several thousand square kilometers and many other towns and monasteries. One could spend weeks in Yushu county exploring lost monasteries and still not see it all. A Burning Ring of Mud and Fire As I mentioned earlier, getting to Yushu is a trial but somehow makes the whole trip that much more special. There is one through bus a day from Xining, and under ideal conditions the journey takes 24 hours by sleeper bus. At a distance of 777 kilometers from Xining, Yushu is situated on the other side of the vast central Qinghai plateau, home to nomads and not much else. The road threads its lonely way through a few forlorn administrative outposts good for a bowl of noodles, but for most of the way there are no towns, villages or permanent settlements. The only inhabitants are Golok nomads in their black yak hair tents, who you will see on horseback with their flocks of yak and sheep. For much of the way the route lies at over 4,000 meters, so it's cold even in summer. Not until the last two hours does the road descend down to the valleys and to Yushu, which is at about 3,200 meters. Because of bad weather and muddy roads my particular bus trip turned out to be a marathon - 31 hours from start to finish, and my bunkmate and I were certainly glad to see the last of each other by the time it was over. Many Chinese sleeper buses are arranged so that two people share the same berth, and when your bunkmate is a burly chain-smoking yak herdsman you don't soon forget the experience. While most of the route is a paved road, the middle stretch is still unsurfaced, and it was in this part that our troubles began. After several hours of barely making it through massive mud pits, we finally ground to a halt at 2 AM in the middle of a deep quagmire. With a finality that I found infinitely depressing, the bus driver turned off the engine and held his head in his hands. We spent the next 6 hours in the middle of the mud sea without moving, surrounded by empty grasslands and all the while the bus sinking deeper. In order to shut out the freezing wind, my follow passengers closed all the windows and then everybody promptly started smoking cigarettes. Occasionally some brave soul would wade out into the muddy waters and stand shivering in the wind while he answered the call of nature. As a diversion we would all razz him mercilessly. Shortly after dawn, a truck lined up behind us to give us a push; with a metallic smack it hit us and our bus heaved forward through the muddy quagmire. As our driver played the stick shift like a fine violin we sat literally on the edge of our seats, every sense intent on the least variation in the vibrations coming up from the bus' engine as a sign as to whether or not we'd have to spend another day and night stuck in the sea of mud. With a final orgasmic gasp and grind the bus heaved itself up onto dry land and stopped for a moment, panting, before setting off again down the road. Several hours later, as most of the passengers were dozing, I noticed smoke coming out of an enormous burlap bag that was blocking the aisle of the bus. Curiosity turned to horror as the sack burst into flames. Everyone starting screaming something in Qinghainese, which I intuitively picked up and started screaming too (terror is a great language-learning tool). The owner of the sack reached deep into the smoking cauldron and brought out a burning bag of laundry detergent. The pressure and heat inside the sack had set off a chemical reaction, causing the detergent to burn. Since I was sitting near the window, he threw the burning bag of detergent in my lap. I yelled something in Qinghainese at him (for a few moments I was fluent), grabbed the bag and tossed it out the window, where it was immediately run over by a passing truck. I breathed a sigh of relief, my euphoria at having escaped possible death by fire only slightly disturbed by the gob of mud that the passing truck's wheels shot up onto my face. Monasteries and Mani Fields Well, this fun couldn't go on forever, so our bus finally did reach Yushu. The friendly town, most of the houses still done in traditional style, nestles at the foot of mountains sprinkled with prayer flags. Looming over the scene is Jyekun gompa, a monastery with 300 monks that crowns a nearby hill. The gompa's buildings, painted in the characteristic gray, white and red stripes of the Sakya Monastery in central Tibet, spills down the mountainside like a child's blocks and is an interesting maze to explore. Give the wild dogs roaming the monastery grounds a wide berth and they will (probably) leave you alone. The ritual circumambulation of the gompa affords great views over the surrounding countryside, as well as an opportunity to chat with the pilgrims spinning their prayer wheels as they do the circuit. Seven kilometers to the north is the world's largest mani field. Mani stones are rocks in which the sacred Sanskrit Buddhist mantra "om mani padme hum" has been carved in Tibetan script, and the mani field at Gyanamani is immense, with hundreds of thousands of carved stones piled high in a maze of mani walls. It's easy to hitch a ride to Gyanamani, as every vehicle in Yushu doubles as a taxi, and just about everybody will pick you up for a small gratuity. And although temples and monasteries around Yushu are too numerous to mention here, be sure and try to see Wenchenggongju Miao, about 30 minutes south of town. While the temple itself is small, it is set in a beautiful gorge, and the circumambulation trail takes you up on the cliffs and to a pretty village surrounded by grazing yaks and a field of flowers. Getting There and Places to Stay Daily sleeper buses leave from the bus station across the street from Xining Railway Station. They leave in the afternoon and take about 24 hours, depending on weather and mechanical breakdowns. There is also a daily bus to Madoi, the halfway point, which leaves in the morning. Although Madoi is interesting in a rough and tumble sort of way, accomodation is basic in the extreme and onward transport not dependable. You'll have to stand out on the road and hope for a bus going all the way to Yushu, and those are few and far between. Other than very basic zhaodaisuo, there is only one place to stay in Yushu - you guessed it, the Yushu Bingguan. It's very comfortable and not too expensive at about %220 for a double. Give them a call to reserve a room at 0976-826999. Along the main street there are some good Huizu noodle places and a few Sichuanese have opened up some simple restaurants.