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When I was in fifth grade, my geography teacher assigned us a project: draw a map of a region of the world that wasn’t defined by political borders. Most of my classmates picked islands or places surrounded by water. I, perhaps foolishly, chose the Tibetan Plateau, defined by an area above 10,000 feet. I had no idea the assignment would then require us to plan a trip there. As a ten-year-old, I marched into a travel agency to ask how much it would cost to visit the Plateau of Tibet.

It would be many decades before I finally made it, but on this journey through China, I found myself on the edge of that plateau in Gansu Province, in a region known as the Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture.

This is Tibet without being Tibet: an area where more than half the population is Tibetan, where monasteries dominate the skyline, and where the altitude forces you to slow down whether you want to or not. The experience was unlike any other I had in China, and it became one of the highlights of my two-week press trip through Beijing and the province of Gansu.

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Why Gannan?

The Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture lies south of Lanzhou, the provincial capital of Gansu. Historically, Gannan has been Tibetan since the 7th and 8th centuries, when the Tibetan Empire stretched far beyond today’s official borders. Buddhism arrived here along the Silk Road, and its influence remains visible in the monasteries, prayer wheels, and chants that fill the valleys. Unlike Lhasa, which sees steady streams of international visitors, Gannan is still almost entirely domestic in its tourism. Over three days of travel, we encountered perhaps two other Westerners.

Gannan is not connected yet by China’s fast and efficient high-speed rail, though tracks are being laid and are expected to reach the region by 2027. For now, you reach Gannan by road: a long drive through valleys, rivers, and sweeping grasslands. That slower access is precisely why I recommend going soon. Travel here still feels adventurous. Once the high-speed train arrives, it is bound to change.

Herds of Yaks on the Tibetan Plateau

One of the unforgettable images of traveling through Gannan was the sight of yaks grazing across the high pastures. Driving between Xiahe, Langmusi, and Diebu, we would round a bend in the road and suddenly find entire herds spread out over the green plains. At 10,000 feet, the air is crisp and thin, and the pastures stretch for miles without fences. Against that backdrop, the black, long-haired yaks stood out dramatically, their curved horns and shaggy coats giving them an almost prehistoric look.

In some places, the animals wandered freely, occasionally crossing the road and forcing us to slow down or stop altogether. It became part of the rhythm of the journey: a reminder that here, people live alongside their animals in ways that feel timeless.

Yak products are also central to life on the Tibetan Plateau. We tasted yak butter, yogurt, and, of course, yak meat prepared in a variety of ways. For locals, yaks are more than food. They provide milk, candles, wool, hides, and even fuel from their dried dung. Watching them graze in such vast numbers connected me more deeply to the culture here, where survival has long depended on these sure-footed animals.

Practical Tip: Photographers should keep a telephoto lens handy; the combination of yaks, green pastures, and mountains makes for some of the most iconic images of the Tibetan Plateau.

Labrang Monastery and Our Stay in Xiahe

Our first major stop was Xiahe, home to Labrang Monastery. At nearly 9,500 feet (2,900 meters) above sea level, Labrang is the largest Tibetan Buddhist monastery outside of Tibet proper. Founded in the early 1700s, it belongs to the Gelugpa, or “Yellow Hat,” school of Buddhism. Once housing over 4,000 monks, it still has around 1,400 today.

Approaching Labrang, we passed what is said to be the longest corridor of prayer wheels in the world—more than 2,000 of them stretching over three kilometers. Locals and pilgrims walk clockwise, spinning each wheel with their hands as prayers float upward with every turn.

Inside, our English-speaking monk guide led us through a maze of courtyards and temples, each doorway opening into another world of color and devotion. The chapels were hung with thangkas, large, intricate paintings on silk or cotton, that glowed in the dim light of butter lamps. These images, often depicting Buddhas and protective deities, were not only works of art but teaching tools, helping to explain Buddhist cosmology to both monks and pilgrims. Photography was allowed outside, but not inside the temples.

We stopped in front of altars piled high with offerings: bowls of grain, butter lamps flickering in the shadows, and incense curling lazily toward the ceiling. Each item carried symbolic meaning, whether for prosperity, wisdom, or purity. In some temples, the smell of burning butter mingled with the heavy scent of incense, creating an atmosphere both solemn and otherworldly.

Perhaps the most surprising space was the museum of yak butter sculptures. At first glance, these bright, ornate figures looked like carved wood or painted clay. In reality, they were made from yak butter mixed with salt to give them texture and strength, then tinted in vivid hues of red, green, and gold. The subjects ranged from mythological scenes to floral patterns, each crafted in astonishing detail. Because the material is perishable, the sculptures last only through the season before being ritually remade. Their impermanence is part of their meaning: a reminder of the Buddhist teaching that beauty and life itself are fleeting.
In Xiahe, we based ourselves at the Jiusheng Hotel, a practical option close to the monastery. It offered comfort after long days at altitude, though the style was geared more toward domestic travelers than international guests.

Life at Altitude: Adjusting to Thin Air

Much of Gannan sits between 10,000 and 11,000 feet. Even if you are fit, you’ll feel the thinner air. For me, the adjustment was humbling. I had a mild cold during part of the trip, and climbing monastery steps left me breathless. If you go, plan slower days, drink plenty of water, and don’t be surprised if you find yourself moving more slowly than usual. It’s part of the experience of being on the Tibetan Plateau.

At night, we skipped one planned bonfire and cultural experience on the Sangke Grasslands simply because our group was feeling the altitude. Sometimes the best choice is to rest so you can enjoy the next day.

Langmusi: A Border Town of Monasteries

From Xiahe, we drove deeper into the prefecture to Langmusi, a town straddling the border between Gansu and Sichuan. Known as a backpacker destination since the 1950s, thanks to the memoir Tibetan Skylines by anthropologist Robert Ekvall, Langmusi has long attracted travelers in search of Tibetan culture.

Langmusi is unusual in that the town straddles a provincial border: one monastery sits in Sichuan, the other in Gansu. The Gansu-side monastery is known as Sertri Monastery, part of the Gelugpa (Yellow Hat) tradition, the same school as Labrang and Lhasa’s Jokhang. Founded in the early 18th century, it has grown into a complex of golden-roofed temples scattered up the hillside above the town.

The approach itself is memorable. From the town’s main street, you climb gradually upward, passing rows of prayer wheels spun by locals and visitors alike. As you ascend, the rooftops of the temples gleam against a backdrop of jagged granite peaks and grassy hillsides. On a clear day, the setting feels almost cinematic: red cliffs reminiscent of the American Southwest to one side, green alpine slopes that could be Switzerland to the other.

Inside the temples, the ornate paintings again required explanation from our guide, Peter. He described the Buddhist wheel of life, a cosmic map of rebirths and desires. Without his insight, the symbolism would have been difficult to decode. As I understand it:

• The central hub usually has three animals — a pig, a rooster, and a snake — biting each other’s tails. They represent the three poisons of ignorance, desire, and hatred, which drive the cycle of rebirth.
• The six sections around the wheel illustrate the six realms of samsara (cyclic existence):
  • Gods (a realm of pleasure but still impermanent)
  • Demigods (marked by jealousy and conflict)
  • Humans (precious for their balance of suffering and opportunity for enlightenment)
  • Animals (ignorance and servitude)
  • Hungry ghosts (endless craving)
  • Hells (suffering and torment)
• The outer rim shows the twelve links of dependent origination, a chain of causes and conditions that keep beings trapped in the cycle of existence.
• The entire wheel is held in the claws of a fearsome figure — Yama, the Lord of Death — symbolizing impermanence. Everything within the wheel is subject to change and decay.
• At the top outside the wheel, you’ll often see the Buddha pointing toward the moon, representing liberation (nirvana) as the path beyond the endless cycle.

It’s essentially a visual teaching tool: a reminder of how suffering is perpetuated, but also that liberation is possible. But it also mirrors my impression that Buddhism is more complicated than I thought.

One of the most striking features of Sertri is its golden rooftops. Many of the smaller temples and assembly halls are topped with gilded ornaments that catch the light, turning the monastery into a beacon against the mountains. From above, looking back down over the town, the view combines both cultural devotion and natural grandeur, exactly what makes Gannan so distinctive.

The road from Langmusi to Diebu was another reminder of how remote Gannan still is. There is essentially one main road through the region, and when it clogs with traffic, you wait. Our unexpected lunch in a small roadside town was the kind of serendipity that comes with travel here.

Diebu and Zhagana: The “Stone Box” Village

Our destination was Zhagana, a village whose name means “stone box” in Tibetan. National Geographic wrote about Zhagana a century ago, calling it a “Garden of Eden.” Today it still stuns. The village lies in a high valley, surrounded by jagged peaks that rise like walls around it. Wooden walkways and shuttle buses make access easier now, but the sense of isolation remains.

We hiked a loop trail above the town. My favorite section was a path to the left of the main tourist buses. Here we encountered fewer crowds and, in my opinion, more beautiful views. Looking down on Tibetan villages and then up at the dramatic cliffs behind them felt like stepping into a painting.

In Diebu, we stayed at the Saiyin Hotel, which serves as a comfortable base for exploring Zhagana. It was perfectly located for our foray into the mountains.

 

Hezuo and the Milarepa Palace

Hezuo, the capital of Gannan, is a modest town by Chinese standards with only about 100,000 people. While there, we visited the Milarepa Palace, a nine-story temple built like a tower. Its story is one of karma and redemption: a prince who avenged his family by assassination later sought to purify himself by repeatedly building and demolishing temples, until this one finally stood.

At night, Hezuo’s temporary night market came alive with food stalls, skewers grilling over coals, and families enjoying the cool evening air. It was both colorful and fragrant. There was a second section of the market with clothing and other goods targeting a local shopper.

In town, we stayed at the Yihe Hotel. Its bright, spacious rooms were a pleasant surprise after some of the more utilitarian lodgings elsewhere in the prefecture.

Lanzhou Gateway: Before and After Gannan

Our trip to Gannan began and ended in Lanzhou, where we stayed at the Lanzhou Olympic Sports Rosy Huaxi Hotel. The hotel’s modern amenities and hearty breakfast made it an excellent base before heading into the higher altitudes, and again when we returned from the Tibetan grasslands. Lanzhou itself is worth exploring for its riverside parks, Yellow River bridges, and vibrant night markets. I have written about Lanzhou in The Rainbow Mountains and the Silk Road in Gansu, China.

Food and Lodging in Gannan

Meals throughout Gannan were excellent, though unfamiliar. Yak featured prominently, from yak meat stir-fried with peppers to yak yogurt. If you enjoy lamb, you’ll likely enjoy yak. We often ate in hotel dining rooms where multiple dishes were placed on a lazy Susan for sharing. Everything was fresh, plentiful, and flavorful.

Hotels, on the other hand, were simpler than in Beijing or Lanzhou. Western chains are absent here. Expect firm beds, Chinese-style breakfasts, and sometimes smoky rooms. Bathrooms outside of hotels may have squat toilets rather than Western ones. None of this was insurmountable, but it’s worth knowing in advance. If you’re an independent traveler, bring a translation app, as English is rarely spoken.

Practical Considerations for Visiting Gannan

• Timing: Summer brings green grasslands, yaks grazing, and fields of wildflowers. Winters are harsh and not recommended for most travelers.
• Getting There: For now, reach Gannan by road from Lanzhou, about three to four hours to Xiahe. In 2027, the high-speed rail will transform access.
• Altitude: Prepare for 10,000–11,000 feet. If you’ve never traveled at this height, consider medication for altitude sickness.
• Crowds: While foreign tourists are rare, Chinese tourists are discovering Gannan. Expect buses at major attractions like Zhagana.
• Internet: The Internet in China is limited by the Great Firewall. Download a VPN to get to your favorite social media site.
• Connectivity: I found my T-Mobile international plan surprisingly reliable. But if you don’t have that, you will want an eSIM for your phone to access the internet
• Money: ATMs are hit or miss. Carry some cash. The exchange rate at the time of my visit was about 7.5 RMB to the dollar.

How to Plan a Similar Trip

You can find small group tours of this area on Tour Radar: Gansu Tours. The director of the Los Angeles office of the China Tourism Board also recommends this tour vendor for planning trips to Gansu: China Tour.

Final Thoughts: Is Gannan Worth the Journey?

When I think back on Gannan, three words come to mind: isolated, elevated, Buddhist. It is a region where monasteries still hum with chants, where yaks graze under endless skies, and where the mountains look like nowhere else on earth. It is also a place on the brink of change. The coming high-speed rail will make it accessible to millions more travelers. For now, it feels like a rare frontier of discovery within China.

Standing above Zhagana, with the jagged cliffs behind this picturesque village, I thought back to that fifth-grade map project. The Tibetan Plateau had seemed impossibly far away then. Decades later, I was finally standing on its edge, watching prayer flags flutter in the wind. If you have ever dreamed of Tibet but want a less crowded, more accessible alternative, the Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture should be on your list.

To learn more about my journey, listen to the podcasts:

This post is about part of a 2-week trip to China sponsored by the Chinese Tourism Board. I am grateful for the trip, but all opinions expressed are my own.