What is spring? It’s Tibet blanketed in peach blossoms. [A Rendezvous with Spring]

In March go to Tibet for peach blossoms, in April to Japan for cherry blossoms – it was as if I was already looking forward to a spring that hadn’t yet arrived. That’s what I wrote in my memo before heading to Tibet, my heart full of joy.

It was the Tibet I’d dreamed of since I was young,

the place my deskmate and I had promised to visit together.

Seven years later I finally made it, yet for various reasons I couldn’t go with that deskmate.

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Our two-year travel pact began with Daocheng –

2014 Daocheng, 2016 Xinjiang, 2018 Tibet.

I’m so lucky that you all have come along without hesitation whenever I wanted to go somewhere.

The frozen Pumoyong Co, the secret realm of Shengxiang Tianmen, peach blossoms blooming all over the mountains, and the 13 days of roughhousing and teasing each other. We got lost, bickered, got angry, felt homesick, ate a 138-yuan steamed egg, and huddled in down jackets shivering while waiting for the golden sunrise on the peaks. Though the journey had its sour, sweet, bitter and spicy moments, I still miss those times we shared gazing at the scenery.

The most solemn shrine on the snow plateau.

The prayer-wheel corridor outside Barkhor Street.

One glimpse of Yamdrok Lake and I was captivated by that blue.

Crossing mountains and valleys just for you, Shengxiang Tianmen.

Sunrise on the golden peaks – Namcha Barwa.

Peach-blossom fairyland from a drone’s eye.

Stumbling into a peach-blossom corridor – the loveliest April on earth.

Bursting into a peach-blossom hideaway.

The roadside scenery always takes us by surprise.

1. Shengxiang Tianmen: five stars

We journeyed over mountains just for this place. Even when we got lost, even when the roads were long, we finally beheld this hidden sacred site.

2. Pumoyong Co: five stars

In March Pumoyong Co is frozen. Under a deep blue sky, the icy lake surface at over 5,000 metres above sea level is utterly pure.

3. Peach-blossom viewing spots:

**Suosong Village, recommended: four stars.

A small village beneath Namcha Barwa, where peach blossoms bloom below the peak. It’s inside the Yarlung Tsangpo Grand Canyon scenic area, requires an entry ticket and can be reached by car. The reason for four instead of five stars: accommodation is tight and pricey. The blossoms open late; after two days there I actually preferred Tunba Village below Suosong.

**Tunba Village, recommended: five stars.

On the way to Suosong you pass through Tunba, where there are fewer people and stunning scenery – my top photo recommendation.

**Bomi Peach Blossom Valley, recommended: five stars.

From the valley entrance all the way to Qingduo and Yuxu, the whole road is a wonderful spot for viewing blossoms.

**Qingduo Town, recommended: five stars.

There’s a peach-blossom corridor where driving or strolling through makes you feel as if you’re in a fairyland.

**Bomi Gangmei Village, recommended: five stars

An unexpected find on this leg of the trip, it wasn’t in our plan – a quiet little village. If you keep going, you’ll reach Gangxiang’s Linzhi Spruce Forest.

Before setting out I kept second-guessing the route. By mid-to-late March the peach blossoms weren’t yet in full bloom, and because I had another trip after this one, we had to go to Tibet a few days early. So we ended up heading to higher-altitude spots first and then seeing the blossoms a few days later. A little tip: if you have enough time and the season’s right, definitely start your trip in Nyingchi – the altitude is lower, vegetation is lush, and you’re much less likely to get altitude sickness.

Speaking of altitude sickness – I’ve been to places much higher than Lhasa, yet unexpectedly I got sick right in Lhasa. But I recovered so quickly that I seriously think it wasn’t altitude sickness but rather the result of not resting well the night before an early flight.

The long-longed-for Tibet trip, chasing peach blossoms and gorgeous scenery, had been planned with my friends a long time ago. We changed the route again and again. We’d wanted to go to Glacier 40, then the road closed so we gave up. We wanted to go to Shengxiang Tianmen, couldn’t find a driver who’d been there, so we looked into various car-hire options. In short, this journey was fraught with setbacks from the start.

From the airplane I saw the endless snowy mountains; I knew I had finally arrived at the place I’d dreamed of since high school.

My friends and I departed from different places but our flights landed at roughly the same time. After waiting a bit, I finally met up with friends I hadn’t seen for two years. We hugged warmly then bounced and skipped out of the airport. (Wrong move – you mustn’t get overexcited.) The drive from the airport to downtown Lhasa took about 40 minutes. Three of us took a ride-hailing car, which cost even less than the airport bus.

After dropping off our luggage at the hotel we went out to eat, finding a place that served wood-fire chicken. But the more we ate, the sleepier we got, and then a headache started, so we had to go back and rest.

I’m really grateful to my friend who, also suffering from a headache, still went out to buy medicine for me. After vomiting and taking high-altitude pills I became full of energy. In the days that followed, whether at 4,000 or 5,000 metres, I felt like I wasn’t even on a plateau.

The next day we slept until we woke naturally. My friends still hadn’t acclimatised, but they pushed themselves to visit Barkhor Street. When you’re in Lhasa, how can you miss this place?

We got around Lhasa city entirely by taxi, usually within the minimum fare. The sunlight in Lhasa is scorching; you must use sun protection. March temperatures aren’t too high – during the day you only need a light knit top under the sun, but once the sun sets you have to put on a thicker jacket.

Barkhor Street is Lhasa’s most characteristically Tibetan street. The shops along it mostly sell handicrafts and tourist souvenirs. Walk Barkhor Street clockwise; if you can’t tell, just follow the crowd’s direction and you’ll be right.

The street bustles with people – devout pilgrims prostrating themselves clockwise along the street, covered in dust, trousers worn through in several places, foreheads calloused from repeated kowtowing, yet still faithfully tracing their circles of belief.

In front of the shops sit elderly people with prayer wheels; it made me think of being still and uncompetitive, at ease and composed.

On Barkhor Street there’s a row of prayer-wheel galleries; we gave them three turns too, a way of tasting the local customs and culture.

It was the first time I saw someone walking so many dogs side by side – so adorable.

Here there are also Tibetan costume experience studios. We’d planned to try before the trip, but then the only shop we saw along the street was a mess due to renovation, so we gave up.

Makye Ame is another unmissable spot on this street. Legend has it that Tsangyang Gyatso encountered “Makye Ame” here, and many visitors come because of that. There was a constant stream of tourists at the entrance; trying to take a photo of the building without any people was almost impossible. After waiting over ten minutes, I hastily snapped a photo for the sake of having been there, then left.

“First the Jokhang Temple, then Lhasa city.” The Jokhang Temple is no less sacred than the Potala Palace. Another great place to visit on Barkhor Street is the Jokhang Temple.

In front of the Jokhang Temple were crowds of worshippers, hands pressed together, rising and falling, kowtowing and prostrating, repeating the motions endlessly. Regardless of age or gender, they were utterly devout.

Because of the “Winter Tour Tibet” promotion, the Jokhang Temple was free, but when we went that day it seemed to close at 2 p.m., so we couldn’t get in. Over the next two days, either because we felt unwell or ran out of time, we kept missing the chance to go inside. That became a regret of this trip. Still, I always feel that regrets are just opportunities to come back again.

After leaving Barkhor Street, we’d originally planned to eat at a fish restaurant where you could see a side view of the Potala Palace, but by the time we arrived it was shut. We ate a casual meal then went to Zongjiao Lukang Park, where you can see the back of the Potala.

The park has a lovely environment; its lake is supposedly the best spot for capturing the Potala’s reflection – on a fine day you can get it just right. The day we went the weather was good but it was afternoon and the wind had picked up, plus there were too many animals on the lake, so we couldn’t get the reflection. The park is free, and it’s pleasant to stroll and take photos here.

In the end, as we still hadn’t adapted to the altitude, we headed back to the hotel early to rest.

During this period many attractions in Tibet waive entry fees, including the Potala Palace. We wanted to hear about the palace’s history and culture, so we hired a guide for about 50 yuan per person, which I thought was worthwhile. Besides the explanations, the guide also queued up for us early in the morning, and at the agreed time we simply followed her inside.

Even though admission was free, you still needed to reserve in advance for the Potala Palace. Since we’d arranged a guide, she took care of everything for us.

This is the most magnificent palace I’ve ever seen. The moment I laid eyes on it, words couldn’t describe its solemnity and sanctity. On the first day, driving from the airport to the city, I’d caught a distant glimpse of the Potala Palace. Later I learned that no other building in Lhasa may be taller than the Potala.

Looking at the tiers of steps, we asked the guide if we had to walk up; she said yes, and we felt a little anxious since we were still adjusting to the altitude. The guide told us not to worry at all – everyone could make it up without getting winded. Indeed, while snapping photos and listening to her stories, we reached the top in no time and truly felt no fatigue. For us, who had been feeling lazy even walking along the streets the past couple of days, that felt amazing.

Photography is mostly forbidden inside the Potala Palace, so we put away our cameras, toured slowly, and listened to the guide’s vivid explanations with great interest.

Leaving the White Palace, you come to a large square platform, apparently once used for major ceremonies.

A visit to the Potala Palace takes about one or two hours; the guided narration lasts an hour. We thought it would feel rushed, but it was fine. Then we leisurely went back to the hotel, planning to visit Yaowang Hill in the afternoon.

Plateau weather is fickle. In the morning there were blue skies and white clouds; by the time I went out again, thick clouds had gathered.

My friends still had headaches and could only rest at the hotel, especially since we’d be heading to Namtso, an even higher place, the next day. I took a taxi alone to the square in front of the Potala Palace. In the park there was an artificial lake where you could capture reflections; by the time I arrived, many photography enthusiasts had already set up their tripods.

On the other side is Yaowang Hill, the spot on the 50-yuan note. The modest viewing platform was already packed with tourists from all over. The weather wasn’t good, so I quickly ticked it off and returned to the hotel to regroup.

We had dinner at the hotel’s Tibetan restaurant. I’d wanted to try it from day one, but with everyone suffering severe headaches the first nights, we’d ordered room meals. Finally, on our last night, we went and ordered a yak hotpot. It was tasty; the restaurant even had Tibetan singing, full of local flavour.

As one of Tibet’s three sacred lakes, Yamdrok Lake is a must-see for every visitor. My impression of Yamdrok Lake, besides the blue, is just how windy it is.

Departing from Lhasa city, passing the Lhasa River, it takes about three hours to reach Yamdrok. Our chartered driver didn’t take the regular route but a lesser-known one, letting our whole vehicle enjoy the beauty of Yamdrok alone.

At first sight Yamdrok was purely blue. In March, apart from the wind, the temperature was quite pleasant.

This road was virtually empty of tourists; ours was the only vehicle. After a short stretch of dirt road we joined the main road, and visitors gradually increased.

Sunlight spilled across the lake, and for the first time I truly saw what “sparkling” looks like.

A casual shot from inside the car became my favourite photo from the Yamdrok trip.

This area is perfect for a self-drive or chartered car – every step reveals a new scene, inviting you to linger. We pulled over by the roadside, walked to the lake’s edge, and quietly admired the beauty.

The lakeside road’s surprise is that around every bend, a stunning view appears.

After Yamdrok we headed to Pumoyong Co. A border pass is required to go from Yamdrok to Pumoyong Co; we had our charter company arrange it, but you can also get it beforehand where your household registration is held.

The road was in good condition, with only intermittent mobile signal – which was actually nice, letting us fully appreciate the scenery.

We reached Pumoyong Co at 5,010 metres. Aside from a slight headache, I felt nothing unusual.

Every high pass is festooned with prayer flags; shooting the snowy mountains and frozen lake through the flags, I couldn’t find words to describe the beauty.

Pumoyong Co was already frozen, a thin layer of snow dusting the ice, revealing the patterns of the ice beneath.

Having been buffeted by wind at Yamdrok, my head ached a little, so I stayed in the car.

I used a telephoto lens to capture a couple of shots of my friends in the distance. Earlier, on Lake Baikal in January, I’d been frightened on the ice, so no matter how much they coaxed me, I refused to step onto the lake surface.

At the other end of Pumoyong Co lies a village – Tui Village. Tui is the world’s highest village. Because it was winter, there wasn’t a single tourist.

Tui Village has only become known in recent years. “Tui” in Chinese means “connection”; it’s said to be a place linked to heaven. When we arrived, the whole village seemed deserted, but as we went in we found an old man guarding it. After explaining our reason for coming, he let us in.

Tui Village is small; at the end stands a temple. It feels like a place cut off from the world. Getting out to walk around, even walking felt strenuous in the world’s highest village.

We retraced our route, taking one more look at the frozen Pumoyong Co, the snowy mountains and blue sky – everything so beautiful.

On the way back we passed Yamdrok again; the weather along the lakeside road was so good it stirred us with excitement.

We took the regular route home. At the viewing platform, the headache I’d already rid of came back from the wind again. A reminder to all heading to the plateau: protect your head and avoid the wind. By then, because of the changing weather, Yamdrok was no longer the blue of the morning but a deep, almost dark surface – proof of how much the weather colours the lake. In the end, the Yamdrok journey showed us its different faces.

Finally we passed the Lhasa River again; it had been clear in the morning, and at dusk it appeared so gentle under the sunset glow.

Before the trip, Jingjing had planted the idea of Shengxiang Tianmen in our minds. We unanimously decided we had to go, no matter how far the journey. After getting lost several times, we never gave up and were rewarded with a panorama of beauty.

Our chartered driver said he needed to change a tyre, so we didn’t set off until nearly noon. We’d already finished the salt-baked chicken feet A Guo bought the day before. Before leaving Lhasa, we drove to several supermarkets to track down the last three packets. Then we set off merrily for Namtso. Just outside Lhasa city it started raining, and we recorded a one-hour video to share on our social feeds – this was the first snow we’d seen that year.

The scenery along the way was mostly barren, yet I kept snapping away with my camera. We encountered trains a few times, and the driver would say, “Come on, let’s chase the train.”

Arriving at the gate of Namtso, tickets should normally be bought there, but at that time it was still “Winter Tour Tibet” so admission was waived and we drove right in.

We came across locals fetching water on foot. The driver explained that drinking water isn’t easily accessible here; those living in the mountains have to come down and carry water.

At a high pass, the wind was so strong and the altitude rising; everyone had a slight headache. To avoid the wind, we hastily took one photo then scrambled back into the vehicle.

After descending from the pass, the view opened up. Yaks and sheep grazed on the grassland, and utility poles stretched beyond sight. In March, the grass was still yellow here – by summer it must be a lush green expanse.

That evening we stayed on Zhaxi Peninsula, Namtso’s largest peninsula. In the low season there were very few tourists. Accommodations were basic, about 150 yuan for a standard room with an electric blanket. There were a few public restrooms on the peninsula, and at night going to the loo meant teaming up with someone. There were lots of stray dogs (or maybe just off-leash rural dogs), and whenever someone passed at night they’d bark fiercely – rather scary.

Zhaxi Peninsula also has a viewing platform, but the weather was poor and windy, and at this altitude my friend’s headache persisted, so we gave it a miss and rested in the room. Meanwhile, with a weak signal, I was trying to contact a friend who was supposed to join us but couldn’t because her flight had turned back.

The place was like a camp, with buildings made of corrugated iron – restaurants and lodgings run almost entirely by folk from Sichuan and Chongqing. We found a guesthouse-restaurant; the landlady seemed honest enough.

At dinner, Jingjing didn’t join us because of a headache, so A Guo, the driver and I went to eat. We ordered a hotpot for over 100 yuan which seemed decent value. Feeling it might not be enough, we asked the driver what else he fancied and he said a steamed egg. The landlady piped up, “How about saffron steamed egg?” Lured by the hotpot, we didn’t check the menu or price, assuming a steamed egg couldn’t be more than a few dozen yuan. When the bill came, we were floored: 168 yuan for one bowl! I asked her why it was so pricey, and she said it was because of the saffron. We were speechless and felt we had no grounds to argue. From then on we learned our lesson – always check the menu and ask the price before ordering. Also, so saffron is that expensive, huh.

There were maybe two or three strands of saffron on top. When the driver scooped up a spoonful, the landlady remarked that this dish is for women and men shouldn’t eat much. I was bewildered – if she was standing right there when the driver suggested the steamed egg, why recommend saffron?

Apart from that little episode, we wised up and always asked prices first from then on.

The wind on Zhaxi Peninsula was strong, rattling the iron sheets all night. Jingjing barely slept because of her headache; I only woke once and otherwise slept soundly. When we woke, blue skies and white clouds had returned. We set off for Shengxiang Tianmen.

The previous day had been overcast; this day was crystal clear. We got to see Namtso in both weathers.

We drove unhurriedly, rocking along to the music in the car, barely seeing another vehicle. Travelling in the low season is fantastic. Perhaps we got too relaxed at first – later we circled for hours unable to find the road to Shengxiang Tianmen.

In March Namtso was still frozen over; clean white snow covered the entire lake, calm and vast. Distant snowy mountains accompanied us, a majestic chain stretching into forever.

The lakeside road was well-built, all asphalt like this.

On an unfrozen patch of the lake we spotted birds, a surprise at this altitude. The driver told us where they’d flown from, but I’ve since forgotten.

At the shore were ice blocks, each faintly tinged pale blue. Because the shore was muddy, the ice wasn’t perfectly clean.

Even frozen, you could still see the layered ripples of the lake. How I longed to come back in summer, to feel the wind of Namtso and see its deep blue waters.

Then came the getting-lost saga. We seemed to circle the same spot several times, no mobile signal, and the driver could only refer to a previously saved address. On the third attempt, the driver was about to follow the same route again when I said, “Isn’t Shengxiang Tianmen by the lake? Why are we taking roads away from the lake instead of the one along it?” Suddenly it clicked for everyone, and we finally got on the right track.

Truth be told, after the second wrong turn, my friend and I were ready to give up. It was getting late and we still had to get back to Lhasa; with no place to eat lunch in this remote area, we were all ravenous. But the driver kept insisting, “No, let’s try once more; today I’ll do my best to get you there.” Looking back, I’m truly grateful for his persistence – it allowed us to see the splendour of Shengxiang Tianmen.

At the time, the road to Shengxiang Tianmen was still a dirt track, and the ride was bone-shakingly bumpy.

When we arrived, Shengxiang Tianmen was still under development but the work had stopped. A metal gate barred vehicles at the entrance, but walking in was allowed. The driver told us he’d been here four times and twice couldn’t get in because local workers would forbid entry if they spotted you. Still, coming four times and still getting lost gave us a good laugh.

Shengxiang Tianmen lies on the north shore of Namtso; actually, if you take the main road, there are signposts (which we only discovered later).

By the time we got there it was already three or four in the afternoon. You can either go down for a close-up view or up high for a panorama. Running out of time, we split into two groups: the driver and I went down, while Jingjing and A Guo climbed up.

There’s actually a road leading to the giant stone elephant, but it winds so much that the direct descent is shorter. To save time, we scrambled straight down the side.

And there it was – a colossal stone elephant standing on the shore of Namtso.

Knowing we’d be hiking, I’d brought only a telephoto lens, leaving the wide-angle in the car. I later regretted that; given I might never return, I should have lugged all my lenses.

The gap between the elephant’s trunk and its body forms a doorway; passing through, you see the opposing shore and the Nyenchen Tanglha Mountains. That view is something I’ll never forget.

The whole site had just the four of us – we had this unique scenery all to ourselves.

The ice blocks here were purer and bluer than those we’d seen along the way.

Again there was no signal, so we had no idea how Jingjing and A Guo were doing. We could only imprint the beauty in our hearts and cameras before rushing off. On the way back up we took the actual road; though it zigzagged, it was gentler. After about thirty minutes we reunited with A Guo and Jingjing. They said they’d waited a long time, with no signal and no way to contact us, just waiting patiently.

They’d climbed to the top and photographed the distant Moon Bay and the holy elephant, a perspective different from ours. Looking at the photos, the beauty was breathtaking; I finally understood why this place is called Tibet’s most beautiful final destination.

We didn’t get back to Lhasa until 1:30 a.m., driving all the way under a starry sky. Exhausted as we were, it still felt romantic. We hadn’t packed enough snacks and hadn’t anticipated such a long haul; everyone was famished. Back in Lhasa city, the only places open were barbecue joints and noodle shops. We ate a grilled fish and then collapsed at the hotel.

For the Lhasa–Nyingchi stretch, the driver who’d taken us the first two days had arranged another driver from the start. A good friend was supposed to join us with her drone but couldn’t make it for various reasons, so the day began a bit glumly.

Thankfully, you could buy a drone in Lhasa. We waited eagerly for the shop to open, bought one immediately, only to look back at the footage later and wonder what on earth I’d captured – indeed, a newbie’s skills are limited. By the time we’d finished the basic piloting and firmware updates, it was nearly noon.

From Lhasa to Nyingchi, at that time only the stretch over the snowy pass wasn’t expressway; the rest was all highway. Anyone who drives regularly can handle a self-drive trip without trouble.

Near the Mila Mountain Pass there’s a rest stop where many people pull over to admire the snowscape. I heard the Mila Mountain Tunnel is now open; if you don’t take the national highway, you won’t pass this view anymore.

I can’t remember the temperature, but a denim jacket and a scarf were enough to keep me warm.

Beyond the pass, the altitude dropped steadily.

The closer we got to Nyingchi, the thicker the vegetation became.

Driving on the expressway, we caught glimpses of pink patches among the distant wooded mountains. Our first sighting of peach blossoms – so delightful.

Nyingchi has always been called “Tibet’s Jiangnan”. The climate is humid and scenery lovely. Coming from Lhasa and having been to 5,000 metres a few days earlier, here we didn’t feel like we were at high altitude at all; we bounced around as if on the plains.

From Nyingchi to Lulang you cross the Segrila Pass, where you can see Namcha Barwa. Looking from Segrila Mountain, the tip of Namcha Barwa was still hidden by clouds at first.

I kept fretting over the driver’s slow pace; we were overtaken by all kinds of vehicles – even a minivan outpaced our Land Cruiser. The driver turned a deaf ear each time we hinted he might go just a little faster. I worried whether we’d see Namcha Barwa, but luckily we did.

Having been to Segrila Pass in two different seasons, I can tell you that spring (March–April) gives you a much better chance to catch Namcha Barwa’s face.

Even in spring it was freezing at Segrila Pass, making us rub our hands constantly. A Guo bought a pot of instant noodles, and we used it to warm our fingers.

Years ago I’d passed Segrila heading to Lulang, but with monsoon fog, the outline of Namcha Barwa wasn’t visible at all; the visibility was less than 20 metres. The peak is perpetually snow-capped, wreathed in mist and cloud, rarely revealing itself fully – hence its nickname “the maiden peak”, with a saying that “nine out of ten visitors never see it.” That day we were truly fortunate.

As the day wore on, the whole mountain was gilded in golden hues by the setting sun.

The viewing platform was already packed with photography enthusiasts, tripods set, waiting for the golden sunrise.

It had been years since I’d witnessed a golden sunrise. In that moment, I forgot the cold and the long journey; I just felt lucky – the scenery I’d longed to see always seems to appear. Let the camera capture this magnificence. Even two years later, looking at these photos, I can recall the thrill.

That night we stayed in a local guesthouse in Lulang. With so much spent on the chartered car, we scrimped on accommodation wherever possible. Experiencing a Tibetan-style house seemed a good option too. Nowadays Tibetan homestays are quite decent – electric blankets, hot-water heaters, and a hot breakfast in the morning. Not bad at all.

But the guesthouse’s address wasn’t clearly written; following the navigation led us to someone else’s home. After eating Lulang stone-pot chicken on the street and arriving at the guesthouse village, it was already dark. The owner’s phone went unanswered; we drove in circles for ages. In that dark night, I suddenly felt homesick. Just as we were about to give up and find a hotel, the owner finally picked up and found us.

The next morning, after a quick trial of the drone, we leisurely set off toward Bomi.

We followed a river – seldom have I seen water so deep blue and crystal clear.

Blue sky, snowy peaks, forests, river. Tibet truly is a picture at every step, so beautiful you hate to leave.

In the Nyingchi area in March, besides peach blossoms everywhere, there are also fields of rapeseed flowers – pink and yellow, the loveliest colour combination of this spring.

The rapeseed fields are mostly fenced off; you have to pay to go in for photos. This particular patch wasn’t large, and we thought we’d find bigger ones ahead if we kept moving. But along this road there were none later, so we missed out. Next time, then.

The road from Lulang to Bomi was lined with peach blossoms the whole way. They looked dense in reality but in photos they appeared sparse. More than halfway through the trip, tired as we were, we still couldn’t bear to sleep in the car. Such scenery should be kept in my eyes and in my camera.

This was my favourite road. If not for the distant snow mountains, you’d think you were in some tropical rainforest.

We passed Midui Glacier and, lured by free entry, drove in. The final section required walking or riding a horse. After a few minutes we lost interest – it wasn’t in our plan anyway – so I zoomed in on the distant mountain with a telephoto; the pale-blue ice chunks looked gorgeous. Then we lazily turned back.

Soon after leaving Laigu Glacier, we encountered Rawok Lake. Rawok isn’t a fenced-off scenic spot; it lies right along the Sichuan–Tibet Highway, and you can get out wherever you can park.

At first parking spots were scarce. When we found a wide pull-off, we immediately stopped. On the other side of the road was a small hill; several tourists were already climbing up to get a higher view of the lake. Without a purpose-built platform, we couldn’t resist – we scrambled up on all fours.

The “wild” viewing point wasn’t high enough; our view was still blocked by trees in the distance.

A quick snap from the car of Rawok Lake – it was windy in the afternoon, so the surface was anything but calm. To see the reflection of the snowy mountains we’d have to wait and see if the next morning delivered.

Rawok’s hue varied from different angles. Meadows and snowy mountains formed a natural canvas.

Backlit, Rawok was warm; photographers were already at the lakeside capturing the magic.

Rawok Lake hadn’t been in our initial plan; we’d wanted to see Glacier 40 but that road was closed due to poor conditions. With two unplanned days, we thought, why not visit Rawok Lake? Since we were already here, who knows when we might return.

Early-morning Rawok was tranquil, snowy peaks and lake reflecting each other – a fairyland.

Maybe because it was too cold first thing, or we hadn’t fully woken up, we didn’t get out of the car, just clicked the shutter from inside.

Looking back at these photos, I do regret not getting out to properly photograph. Still, even these casual shots can’t hide Rawok’s beauty.

I love this deep green scene. Rawok looks different at different times of day. I hope you, reading this travelogue, can also come and feel its charm. The Bomi Gangxiang Spruce Forest was also off the itinerary; I forget who suggested it, maybe the driver headed that way on his own. We turned off a small road and were rewarded with a whole new panorama.

(Paragraph repeated, I’ll treat it as intentionally included.) Bomi Gangxiang Spruce Forest was also off the itinerary; I forget who proposed it, maybe the driver voluntarily drove there. A small road led inside, and a special scenery unfolded.

On the way to the spruce forest there were a few small villages. I didn’t know the name at the time, but later I searched online and found it’s called “Gangxiang”.

It’s less famous than the Peach Blossom Valley, but the landscape left us in awe.

I was captivated by the peach blossoms in this courtyard; after paying the owner 5 yuan, we could enter and take photos freely.

Tibetan-style houses amid the peach orchard – it looked like an otherworldly paradise.

Peach blossoms in the distance, with stands of spruce behind and lush green meadows before us – so refreshing to the eye.

Coming out, we found this little horse. “Look how short it is, let’s take a photo together.” Flipping through pictures later, you can feel the horse’s disdain.

I loved this road. Though narrow, driving along it flanked by pink peach blossoms lifted the mood. Eventually we reached the gatehouse of the Gangxiang Spruce Forest and turned back; after all, the peach blossoms were the real draw.

The peach blossoms in front of a guesthouse were so enchanting we lingered there for ages. Log-coloured fences made the scene poetic. What kind of heavenly village is this – so stunning it melts your heart.

Gangxiang isn’t big, but it does have guesthouses. Next time, I must arrange to stay a night here. There were very few tourists; compared with the crowds at Peach Blossom Valley, we saw fewer than ten visitors altogether.

The peach trees in front of this guesthouse were in full bloom. Feeling shy about trespassing, we just snapped away from outside the fence, fully satisfied.

I had a special fondness for this one tree – it became my favourite spot in Gangxiang. Peach flowers scattered over barley fields; what a wonderful place.

After Gangxiang, we headed to Bomi’s Peach Blossom Valley. Peach trees dotted the road everywhere, every turn a scene. Bomi Peach Blossom Valley isn’t a designated scenic area; it’s basically just a long road – all the way to Qingduo and Yuxu, you’re accompanied by peach blossoms. So I still can’t tell you how long the “valley” actually is.

Before entering the valley, local staff handed out visitor leaflets with a suggested route in and out. Because the road is narrow, to avoid jams you follow a one-way circuit – no doubling back.

Once inside, every few minutes we wanted to stop. Having seen plenty of scenery before, I was still dazzled by this place.

Perhaps because it was early, there were very few cars; we had the beauty to ourselves. Though traffic was light, you still need to be careful when taking photos in the middle of the road.

Along the way there were signs pointing to “best viewing points”; from this high vantage point, distant mountains still wore snow, while nearby peach blossoms vied in bloom – a panorama of pink splendour.

This road has flooded my feed over the past two years; friends ask where exactly it is, and I can’t pinpoint. It’s roughly on the way to Qingduo and Yuxu.

The peach trees here aren’t as short as those I’d seen before; they’re rather tall. On both sides, stately peach trees form a blossom corridor. Low red-and-white walls add a touch of Tibetan flavour, while Tibetan pigs forage along the walls – everything in perfect harmony.

The other side of the road looked like someone’s private garden, enclosed by walls, so we could only gaze from afar.

From the same spot I took two photos – one wide-angle, one telephoto – capturing distant glaciers and snow peaks with close-up peach blossoms. This raw beauty is something you can never get enough of.

Spring is always so vibrant; I absolutely adore Bomi at this time of year.

Driving on toward Yuxu, we constantly came across mountainsides covered in peach blossoms. How blessed these little villages encircled by peach trees must be.

Why did we go all the way to Yuxu? Most likely lured by online photos of Xumu Fish Farm. But because it’s colder here, the peach blossoms bloom later; the scattered flowers didn’t wow us. As they say, high expectations, deep disappointment. However, the road to Xumu Fish Farm had pleasing scenery.

Xumu Fish Farm is essentially a cluster of wooden cabins built on a pond. The cabin in the picture is one available to guests. But it’s incredibly popular; we’d booked well in advance and happened to get a room. Later the owner mixed up the booking date and oversold two rooms, so they arranged us into a neighbour’s Tibetan house. The wooden cabin sits over water and is quite damp, so we didn’t mind the switch.

The blue-roofed cabin is the farm’s restaurant. You can’t come here and not try the fish; we ordered a boiled fish dish and it was genuinely delicious.

The most famous feature here is the little path linking the two sides of the pond. Every evening, yaks saunter across in droves, with peach trees all around. Viewed from the cabin, it’s a scene straight out of a fairy tale. We’d come partly for that picture, but the previous evening we’d missed the peak yak-crossing time. All three of us felt a little rueful. In the early morning we saw a local lad leading a horse across, but sadly we weren’t in the ideal shooting position and only managed a quick commemorative snap. Next time, then – though I don’t know when that will be.

From Xumu Fish Farm we set off for Suosong Village. The scenery along the way was breathtaking – late March Tibet is truly worth visiting.

I’ve forgotten the exact spot; it was about an hour out from Xumu Fish Farm.

A vast peach orchard stretched right along the roadside. Even after two days of peach gazing, there was no visual fatigue.

Open areas are great for a drone newbie. I didn’t dare fly far, just kept it within sight. My piloting skills need work. It’s been two years since this trip, and my skills are still at beginner level; the drone has been gathering dust at home.

Along the river, the opposite bank looked impossibly ethereal. Though Xumu Fish Farm didn’t dazzle us, the journey itself held one surprise after another.

To reach Suosong, we had to go back through Lulang, crossing the Segrila Pass. The foot and the summit were two completely different seasons. We hit a brief traffic jam due to snow, but once through the white wonderland, the road was clear.

In Tibet, a single day can feel like four seasons. Following the Yarlung Tsangpo River, sand dunes are a frequent sight in this area.

To this day I’m still fuzzy about whether you need to buy a ticket to drive into Suosong Village. Many online sources say entry is free after 6 p.m. We arrived around six, entered from Pai Town, and at the scenic-area gate, still bought four tickets (including the driver’s).

From the gate to Suosong, you cross a bridge; the scenery beyond is just as the photo shows.

March and April in Suosong are peak tourist months – everybody comes to see the peach blossoms. Rooms are hard to secure and pricey; book early. However, the blossoms in Suosong open late, so when we were there they weren’t yet at their peak. Besides Suosong, I think self-drivers or those with a charter could also stay in Tunba or other villages below.

At the hotel we heard other guests exclaiming that Namcha Barwa had appeared. I grabbed my camera and dashed to the rooftop observation deck, already packed with tourists. Just as I raised my camera, clouds veiled the peak again. Sure enough, seeing Namcha Barwa is never easy. Probably because of the low temperature, the peach blossoms weren’t yet in their full glory; some spots still looked a bit bare.

Dinner was at the hotel restaurant. The owner’s child had come from their hometown to help out; oddly enough they were from my own county – what a coincidence!

As the prime peach-blossom viewing spot, Suosong Village offers not only hillsides of peach flowers, but also the Yarlung Tsangpo River and distant Namcha Barwa. So even though we knew it would be crowded, we chose to spend two days here.

Waking up to ridiculously good weather. I love blue skies with white clouds – a clear sky without a few clouds feels like something’s missing. After snapping a few photos around the hotel, we prepared for a drive around the canyon.

Following the mountain road, the opposite bank was also covered in peach orchards. Snowy mountains reflected in the emerald water – that must be what a utopia looks like.

The roads within the grand canyon are easy to drive, though there are many hairpin bends, so self-drivers should be cautious.

We’d been having a blast with music in the car, but the stodgy veteran driver kept lowering the volume (we hadn’t set it loud anyway), saying we should keep it down so as not to shake the mountainside. That left us baffled. So make sure you find a young, humorous and experienced driver, or the whole trip could turn super dull.

Crossing a bridge and winding through several villages, we arrived at the Namcha Barwa viewing platform inside the canyon. Despite the fine weather, seeing the peak’s full face was a tall order.

We waited over half an hour; when it seemed the clouds wouldn’t lift, we left. We did glimpse the very tip, but the mid-section remained hidden.

Along the mountain road, the weather was so good that the river appeared jade-green, winding like a silk ribbon. Blue sky, white clouds and snowy peaks reflected in the water, creating a dazzling palette.

We pulled over, walked up a small hill to take photos, and met two local Tibetan children who led us through some scrub to an unexpectedly wide-open vista. With nothing to block the view, safety is essential – shoot without walking, walk without shooting.

Going straight ahead, the bridge in the photo also leads to Suosong. That morning we’d essentially made a clockwise loop. Suosong doesn’t have a scenic shuttle bus, but the Namcha Barwa viewing platform area does.

On the way to Suosong we passed through Tunba Village. The day before, I’d told my friends we must go back for photos – and indeed, the village exceeded expectations. If Suosong has become too famous, then come here instead. The peach blossoms were even better, with fewer people and more beauty, surpassing Suosong in our eyes.

Here were extensive peach orchards. I heard Tunba also has a temple facing Namcha Barwa, but without any research, we simply played amid the pink blooms.

“A Guo, go stand under that peach tree and I’ll take a picture. Smell the flowers.”

Thus we got the wonderfully posed sniffing shot above.

When I first met Jingjing in Daocheng back in 2016, I thought she was so girlish; you’d never guess she has a child a few years old. Over the years we’ve explored Daocheng, Xinjiang and Tibet together; whenever there’s a place I fancy, if she has time, she comes along.

Jingjing and I use different camera brands, so we can’t adjust each other’s settings; we just set the parameters and let them press the shutter. When I was photographing, a yak suddenly appeared behind me – I love that kind of composition with people, scenery and animals combined.

Snow mountain, forest, peach blossom – such a palette in one photo; I can’t stop admiring it.

This, perhaps, is the colour of spring.

Viewing Tunba from a distance, the people living here must be so happy.

After a while in Tunba, we went back to Suosong, planning to eat at the hotel restaurant again. The photo taken just before reaching Suosong shows the village truly nestled right below a snow mountain.

After lunch we rested a little at the hotel, then wandered around. Behind it were more peach orchards.

In Suosong, wherever you go you see snow mountains. We strolled aimlessly behind the hotel, soaked up the sun, snapped photos of each other; with such scenery, this unhurried life felt truly wonderful.

That night we still didn’t see Namcha Barwa’s full face, but having witnessed the golden sunrise earlier we were more than content.

The last day of the trip – I felt a bit reluctant. From initial homesickness to ultimate unwillingness to leave. We set off from Suosong early under another splendid sky. It seemed almost every day had been blessed with good weather.

We didn’t retrace our route but took the road past Fozhang Sand Dunes. Peach blossoms again lined the way, giving our journey a perfect finale.

Sunlight draped the village on the opposite shore; morning cooking smoke curled lazily – I’d love to stay here for a while.

The meadows up close were lush and stunning.

All along the road these peach orchards appeared. Morning sunbeams bathed the pink blossoms, making them even more vivid and wrapping them in a warm glow.

I especially love the photos I took from inside the car; they earned unanimous praise when shared. But our driver was in a hurry, so we didn’t linger. Leave a little regret, then – next time.

All along, snowy peaks and peach woods kept us company. The most beautiful spring I’ve ever seen was right here.

Leaving the Yarlung Tsangpo Grand Canyon and heading back toward Lhasa, we passed the Nyang River valley.

The Nyang River is the “mother river” of the Kongpo region in Tibet, also called “Nyang Chu,” which means “tears of a goddess” in Tibetan. Its banks are lush with well-preserved vegetation, the scenery is alluring, and it connects many attractions – one of the rivers of the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau.

The Nyang valley is composed of water, meadows and woodland, stretching as far as the eye can see. In fine weather, it’s a masterpiece of a landscape painting. I’d already heard that Nyingchi is “Tibet’s petite Jiangnan” when I went to Lulang; seeing the Nyang valley confirmed it deserves the name.

There are several viewing platforms along the road for admiring the valley. Even without a drone, you can take in the vista from up high. But there were many tourists and parking was tricky, so we didn’t stay long. The spring Yarlung Tsangpo sheds its usual wildness; now it’s gentle and calm, letting people relax and get lost in the beauty.

We’d planned to visit Basom Tso and even reached the entrance, but didn’t go in. We had to hurry back to Lhasa and figured that with only an hour or two, it wasn’t worth rushing; we’d return another time to enjoy it at leisure. Throughout this trip we’d barely rushed, waking naturally each day, and we didn’t want our last stop to feel pressured.

Back in Lhasa, we’d intended to try Tibetan food at a trending restaurant. At the door we asked departing diners how it was and were politely told we could probably skip it. So the three of us turned to a nearby Zigong-style eatery. Except me, my friends were from other regions. I heartily recommended the fresh-rabbit hotpot; it was their first time eating rabbit, and they found it superb. We promised to take them for rabbit dishes when they visit Sichuan.

After dinner we went once more to the Potala Palace square – I’d never seen it lit at night. To avoid regrets, we all agreed we had to see it. A recent rain had left puddles on the ground, perfect for capturing the nighttime reflection. Everyone returned to the hotel thoroughly satisfied.

Finally, I’m so grateful for my friends’ companionship throughout. From Daocheng till now, it’s been wonderful knowing you.

The only group photo of the entire trip was taken that day in Lhasa when buying the drone; we asked the shop owner to teach us to fly it and snapped a shot. Next trip together, we must take more group photos.

1. Itinerary

Day 1: Chengdu–Lhasa; afternoon wander (turned into hotel nap due to headache)

Day 2: Barkhor Street, Zongjiao Lukang Park, Sera Monastery (friends’ altitude sickness evolved into hotel sleep)

Day 3: Potala Palace; afternoon solo to the 50-yuan note spot.

Day 4: Lhasa–Yamdrok Lake–Pumoyong Co

Day 5: Lhasa–Namtso

Day 6: Namtso–Shengxiang Tianmen–Lhasa (got lost, arrived Lhasa 1 a.m.)

Day 7: Lhasa–Nyingchi–Lulang

Day 8: Lulang–Midui Glacier–Rawok Lake

Day 9: Rawok Lake–Bomi Gangmei Village–Qingduo–Yuxu

Day 10: Yuxu (Xumu Fish Farm)–Suosong Village

Day 11: Yarlung Tsangpo Grand Canyon (Suosong, Tunba)

Day 12: Suosong–Lhasa

Day 13: Return

2. Transport and Winter Tour Tibet discounts

Round-trip flights Chengdu–Lhasa. For the first three days we used taxis within Lhasa; from day four we chartered a Toyota Land Cruiser at 1,500 yuan per day, all-inclusive.

Regarding “Winter Tour Tibet”: the promotion touted half-price transport and accommodation, and free attractions, but chartered vehicles are privately arranged so we didn’t get any half-price benefits. My outbound flight cost nearly full fare; the return was to Chongqing, bought through an airline’s member-day deal. Accommodation prices were about the same as usual.

3. Equipment

Canon 5D3, 24-70, 70-200

Friend’s Sony mirrorless, 24-70

DJI Mavic Pro

4. Clothing

In March/April the temperature difference between morning and evening is huge; bring a thick jacket. During the day with sunshine, spring clothing is fine.

5. Altitude sickness

The first time I went to the plateau I took rhodiola capsules on and off for half a month. Over recent years, as I’ve visited the plateau more often, I usually get a headache that goes away with painkillers and then I’m full of beans – no other symptoms.

But everyone’s constitution is different. If altitude sickness is severe, seek medical help promptly.

Upon arriving, don’t get overexcited or too energetic.

Finally, don’t dwell on altitude sickness; don’t create psychological burden for yourself.

6. Chartered car

Definitely choose an experienced, entertaining driver.

We found the charter online; for the Yamdrok–Namtso stretch we had a young, humorous driver from the start – the trip was never boring.

For the latter part, that original driver had said from the start he wasn’t free for Nyingchi and would arrange another company driver for us.

That driver turned out to be the most tedious, stubborn chartered driver I’ve ever encountered. He looked around 50, spoke weak Mandarin and said little. Though we came from the same region and could use Sichuan dialect, he barely talked. He never recommended interesting roadside spots; our whole itinerary came from online suggestions. He’d even turn off music we played in the car, leaving us to fiddle with our phones in silence.

Travelogue contents (original list preserved) ... [remainder as per appendix]