Mount Kailash

I. Gathering: From Lhasa to Darchen

After resting for two days in Lhasa(Lhasa), our little team for the kora—assembled online—finally came together on October 2: Sister Sisi, A-Zhang, A-Xuan, and me. Sister Sisi was a veteran of fully loaded trekking who had completed many hiking routes; one look at her gear told you she knew exactly what she was doing. A-Zhang and A-Xuan were both younger than me, both very talkative, and both had previous hiking experience. By comparison, I was a complete beginner with no trekking experience whatsoever, secretly worrying about the day I would be left in the dust 😅.

Our plan was to drive from Lhasa to Darchen(Darchen), set out at two in the morning, and complete the entire Mount Kailash(Mount Kailash) kora in a single day.

At the station before departure, the veterans’ gear was spread all over the ground—trekking poles, sleeping mats… By comparison, my own kit looked particularly meager.

The vehicle stopped briefly at a service area. The moment we opened the door, the plateau wind struck us head-on, carrying grains of sand that made it impossible to keep our eyes open.

We drove until the small hours before finding somewhere to rest briefly. I had not eaten anything hot all day, and a plate of rice topped with shredded pork and green peppers somehow tasted like the most delicious thing in the world.

At first light, we set out again. The wilderness unfurled beyond the window in the morning glow, ocher mountains overlapping with distant snow peaks—a vastness beyond words.

Scenes along the way—the deep-blue sky, the rising sun, lakes, and an endless road.

At last, Mount Kailash’s snowy summit appeared at the edge of our vision. Seeing it with my own eyes for the first time through the vehicle window—the pyramid-shaped mountain standing alone above the surrounding peaks, solemn and silent.

We finally reached Darchen after more than ten hours on the road, our bodies numb from sitting. But when we opened the hostel door, the walls were covered with messages from hikers around the world, and suddenly being a pilgrim on the kora felt real.

II. Setting Out: The Cold Wind at Two in the Morning

At two in the morning, the alarm rang. Darchen stands at nearly 4,700 meters above sea level, and merely throwing back the covers and sitting up sent my heart racing. Outside was pitch black, with only a few distant streetlights swaying in the wind. Flashlights in hand, we took our first step on the kora in the subzero wind—our goal was to complete the entire circuit before dark.

The night wind was bitterly cold, and our flashlights illuminated only a few steps ahead. Without companions beside me, it would have been truly difficult to keep going. A-Zhang and A-Xuan were fast and reached Drirapuk Monastery before dawn. Although Sister Sisi and I did not reach Drirapuk Monastery(Drirapuk Monastery) in time to see Mount Kailash glowing gold at sunrise, the starlight slowly faded along the way and Mount Kailash’s outline emerged from the darkness. That mingling of hardship and magnificence made everything worthwhile.

Daylight gradually arrived. Although there was none of the intense golden light of alpenglow, the morning sun striking Mount Kailash’s snowy summit was still beautiful enough to take my breath away.

A video of the alpenglow filmed by a teammate

III. Alone: The Fork at Drirapuk Monastery

When I reached Drirapuk Monastery(Drirapuk Monastery), I handed the food and spare gear I had packed separately to A-Zhang and A-Xuan. Afraid my dawdling pace would hold them back, I told them to go on ahead. Then I stood at the fork in the trail, lost in thought for quite a while—should I continue upward over Drolma La Pass(Drolma La Pass), or retreat here?

Sister Sisi said she would head straight down after finishing some work at the teahouse; she was experiencing a little altitude sickness. But before leaving, she smiled at me and said, “You can climb it.” Those three words steadied me like an anchor. I tightened my grip on my backpack straps and thought, “Maybe I can grit my teeth and try.”

I rested for a while with Sister Sisi at the teahouse below the mountain, drank a cup of sweet tea(Sweet Tea), and tried some dark, almost black dried radish offered by a Tibetan auntie. Its deep color made me worry at first that it might taste strange, but it turned out savory and salty, growing more appetizing with every bite. While rearranging my backpack, I realized that all my supplies—beef jerky, dried fruit, and the rest—were in a single plastic bag, and I had absentmindedly handed the whole thing to A-Zhang. Counting it up, from morning until now, I had eaten only a little beef jerky while walking with Sister Sisi and had taken in nothing else.

I felt a little uneasy, yet facing the mountain wind, my body somehow felt unexpectedly light. I glanced at my watch, afraid that a “trekking novice” like me would not make it down before dark. I had done no research and could barely understand the “Liangbulu” app. Even so, I decided to try. Following the silhouettes of the walkers ahead, I hurried onto the trail.

IV. Hesitation: Questioning Myself After the Bridge

As I crossed the bridge over the stream, the wind suddenly swept in carrying the chill of Mount Kailash’s snowy summit. I stopped short, retreat pounding through my mind like a drum: could I really hold out without any food supplies? I even had the absurd thought—what if altitude sickness struck suddenly and I collapsed in this desolate wilderness? Maybe I should turn back, find Sister Sisi, and descend with her.

I stood at the foot of the mountain, looking at the winding, rocky trail and wavering for quite a while. If I turned back, I could most likely follow Sister Sisi comfortably downhill without worrying about anything. If I continued, everything ahead was unknown; I did not even know where the next supply point was.

In the end, I steeled myself and made a pact: I would keep climbing for now, but the moment my breathing tightened or I felt dizzy and weak, I would turn around immediately.

The trail beyond the bridge was much steeper than I had imagined, and it was easy to slip. With every step upward, my breathing seemed to double in speed, and my heart hammered as if it might shatter my rib cage. But when I looked up and saw Mount Kailash in the distance, the panic inside me suddenly fell still. The snowy summit gleamed coldly in the sunlight, clouds drifting slowly around its peak, and even the wind seemed to slow. I did not take out my phone for a photo; I simply stood there, staring at the snow mountain. Walkers passed at different speeds: some hummed to encourage themselves, some supported one another as they stopped to rest, and Tibetan children skipped and bounded past. As I watched, my heartbeat somehow settled, and my hands loosened their grip on my backpack straps.

V. The Wager: A Canister of Oxygen Before the Pass

Later, I reached the section said to contain a sky burial site(Sky Burial Site). The prayer flags(Prayer Flags) beside the trail snapped loudly in the wind, and the very air around me seemed to grow heavy. When I saw signs reading “Lodging” and “Rescue,” the thought of turning back surfaced again.

But then I remembered Sister Sisi’s words, “You can climb it.” I simply crouched beside the trail and made a wager with myself: if there was still a bottle of oxygen in my backpack, I would keep going; if not, I would turn back.

I opened the zipper and rummaged around. Amazingly, I found an unopened bottle of oxygen, along with a can of Coke slightly crushed by the backpack. I twisted it open and gulped some down. Under the blazing sun, it tasted astonishingly cool and refreshing; the bubbles burst across my tongue, and even my aching legs seemed lighter. I tucked the Coke back into my pocket, dusted off my trousers, and continued upward. From then on, I stopped checking my phone to track the distance and followed only the rhythm of my heartbeat: when it raced, I stopped to rest; when my breathing steadied, I inched forward again.

Along the trail, I met two Tibetan aunties. They wore no professional trekking gear, only ordinary rubber shoes and plain cloth bags, yet they walked quickly and steadily. I tried following them, imitating their rhythm of “short, rapid steps”: instead of trying to cover a great distance with each stride, I focused only on making every step firm. I cannot say exactly what I learned, but at some point I suddenly noticed that my breathing and footsteps had fallen into sync—I lifted my foot as I inhaled and planted it as I exhaled. The sweat on my back seemed to dry faster, and even my legs, which had felt tight all along, became much lighter.

VI. Relief: Arriving at the Rebirth Stone

I continued this way, walking for a while and resting for a while. When I looked up again, the view suddenly opened before me—I had already reached the pass. I took out my phone and checked my messages. A-Zhang and the others had said that if I could not reach the pass by noon, I should try not to continue upward. A secret delight rose in me: it seemed I had caught up with them. Without watching the distance, following only the rhythm of my heartbeat, little by little and step by step, I had truly made it here.

Only when I saw the Rebirth Stone(Rebirth Stone), covered in photographs, could I begin to believe that I was really standing at Drolma La Pass. I stood beside the stone for a long time, watching others attach photographs to the stone wall. The wind fluttered some that had come loose, while others had already fallen to the ground. I had not brought a photograph to leave and did not feel disappointed. I simply prayed silently before the stone for my family’s safety, then turned and continued upward.

At one summit, I saw people burning something, smoke carrying an unfamiliar smell through the air. My heart lurched—could this be a sky burial(Sky Burial)? I glanced over nervously as I passed and discovered that Tibetan worshippers were offering prayers. At the highest point stood an uncle selling commemorative medals, their metal flashing in the sunlight, with Mount Kailash’s outline engraved on the front. I asked the price and promptly bought one—a small token of recognition for the self who had gritted his teeth and persevered. The uncle also took several photos of me. Seeing that I, too, now had one of those life photos of “summiting at such-and-such an elevation,” I was filled with joy.

VII. The Surprise: Twenty Kilometers Beyond Gauri Kund

Descending from the highest point, I immediately saw Gauri Kund(Gauri Kund). From videos I had watched online, I had always assumed this was the finish line.

When I reached the lakeshore, the emerald water reflected Mount Kailash, and even the breeze seemed gentle. Relief filled me, and my steps slowed. I had little experience with altitude sickness and could not clearly describe what it felt like. I only knew that I had kept my breathing under control the entire time: no dizziness, no nausea, and I had not even opened that bottle of oxygen.

What I did not expect was that the road after Gauri Kund would be the real ordeal.

I assumed the route down would be paved with concrete like a scenic area, perhaps even with shuttle buses. Instead, after walking for ages, there was nothing but a potholed dirt track, without so much as a vehicle in sight. Some sections were so steep that I could only inch downward while holding the shrubs beside the trail. The tops of my shoes had rubbed the skin raw around both ankles, and every step made me gasp in pain. At last I reached the foot of the mountain—only later did I learn that this was the “Budong Diding(Budong Diding)” supply point—and hurriedly asked a man nearby whether there was a vehicle. He laughed and patted my shoulder: “You’ve already made it this far. Are you really afraid of the final twenty-plus kilometers?” He had a point. I rubbed my ankles and continued forward.

After roughly two kilometers, A-Zhang suddenly messaged me in a panic: he and A-Xuan could not make it down from the pass. A-Xuan had twisted her ankle, and both of them were suffering from altitude sickness. He had carried a stranger’s backpack for her, while A-Xuan’s backpack had ended up with that woman, and then the two parties became separated. A-Xuan refused to call rescue and insisted on walking down herself. A-Zhang wanted to bring the backpack to me first and asked what he should do. I immediately stopped beside the trail to wait for him while calling A-Xuan, but I could not get through. All kinds of grim possibilities crowded into my mind: was her ankle badly hurt? Could she be lost?

VIII. Warmth: Kindness in the Night

After quite a wait, A-Zhang finally caught up, his face pale. I quickly had him sit down and breathe some oxygen. Gasping, he said that A-Xuan had already been somewhat unable to stand steadily, and her lips had turned purple—obvious signs of altitude sickness. When he urged her to call rescue, she replied, “It’s too expensive. I can walk.” I grew anxious hearing that. From the past few days together, I knew A-Xuan was highly opinionated, even a little stubborn, but she could not gamble with her health.

Fortunately, the call to A-Xuan eventually connected. She said she had already descended to Budong Diding, which was full of people waiting for rescue, and that she could still walk slowly. I did not criticize her; I only kept urging her not to force herself and said I would cover any rescue fee she could not afford. But she still insisted on walking. We argued for a few moments over the phone before she finally compromised, saying she would move slowly toward us and we should wait where we were. Of course, I had not understood the specific circumstances well enough either, and I should not have spoken to her that way.

Later, I walked with A-Xuan, while A-Zhang, who still had more strength, hurried ahead. Darkness slowly fell and the wind grew stronger, blowing so hard we could barely stand. My hair stuck to my face, cold and itchy. My ankles hurt more and more, my nose would not stop running, I had slept poorly the night before and eaten only a little beef jerky that morning, and I felt physically depleted. Every step felt like walking on cotton. A-Xuan also grew slower and slower, until at last she relented: “Maybe we should get a ride.” We tried several times before finding a car to share, but it had room for only one person. I let A-Xuan get in first, watched its taillights disappear into the twilight, then turned and began inching toward the finish once more.

Not long afterward, I met two Tibetan aunties wrapped in thick Tibetan robes. Seeing me limp, they stopped and asked in halting Mandarin, “Young man, looking for a ride? Don’t. Come walk with us. It isn’t far—just over two hours.” Perhaps it was Mount Kailash’s blessing that allowed me to encounter kindness on such a difficult road. I followed them. The aunties did not walk quickly and stopped now and then to rest, so I could keep up easily. But after about half an hour, they said they would stay overnight up ahead. I had to bid them farewell and continue alone.

IX. Completion: The Four Kilometers I Did Not Walk

By then, my stomach was growling. I happened to see a lit shop beside the road and went in for a bowl of meat noodle soup, which restored me a little. But when I came out, almost all daylight had vanished. The moon hid behind the clouds, and it was impossible to tell which way was the trail. I wanted a ride, but there were not even headlights on the road. As I stood worrying at a fork, footsteps sounded in the distance. Seeing two people walking this way, I relaxed and hurried after them. We reached a place covered in loose stones that did not look like a trail, and all three of us unexpectedly asked at once, “Is this the way?” Then we all laughed. Only by walking with them did I find the right direction. That stretch was extremely remote; we walked for a long time without meeting anyone. The distance on my phone kept hovering between “7 kilometers remaining” and “8 kilometers remaining.” Although it felt as if we had traveled far, the number barely changed, and my anxiety began to rise again.

Only when we met another trekking group of seven or eight people and our party grew larger did I feel more at ease. When we reached “6 kilometers remaining,” a small slope suddenly appeared ahead—another mountain trail. I was dumbfounded: I had assumed the final stretch would be a concrete road. How could it be like this? Despair washed over me. A man ahead said, “Once we reach the 4-kilometer mark, we can get a ride. I’ve already booked a car.” I quickly asked whether I could join him, and he readily agreed. At that moment, A-Zhang messaged to ask where I was, saying he could not walk any farther either. I told him there would be a car at the 4-kilometer point, but he was one kilometer ahead of me and the car could not turn back to pick him up. He could only say he would hold on a little longer.

At last, the car took us back to the starting point. I wanted to collect the belongings Sister Sisi had left in storage, only to find the storage office closed. Looking at the time, I remembered I had a bus to catch the next morning; it would be a real problem if I could not retrieve them. As I grew anxious, I noticed light inside the ticket-office window and tried knocking. Someone inside looked out and gestured for me to open the door myself. I explained that I needed to collect Sister Sisi’s stored package. He turned and brought out two white bags with nearly identical features—both white, both filled with food. I remembered that while walking with Sister Sisi, I had seen her reading a book, and that exact book was in one of the bags. That gave me proof enough, and I finally retrieved it.

It was already late at night when I returned to the hostel. I collapsed onto the bunk, my whole body feeling as if it had fallen apart, yet my heart was full of satisfaction.

A-Zhang returned around two hours later than I did, and he, too, collapsed from exhaustion.

No one had expected it—those final four or six kilometers were harder than crossing Drolma La Pass(Drolma La Pass).

On the journey back, the Ngari(Ngari) wilderness beyond the vehicle window stretched into boundless color beneath the sun. On the way there, I had cared only about pressing onward. It was not until I left that I realized every inch of passing scenery deserved a proper farewell.

My journey to Mount Kailash had reached a fitting conclusion. I met Sister Sisi, A-Zhang, and A-Xuan, and together we traveled this road full of surprises. I learned to encourage myself when alone, learned to respect other people’s choices, and had a taste of the trekking life.

I had always thought that Mount Kailash and its sacred lake marked the end of the trek, and for a time Gauri Kund also felt like the closing point of this journey. But those final twenty kilometers, six kilometers, and four kilometers taught me that the true destination is never a particular place. Perhaps that stretch was difficult because my body was exhausted and injured; perhaps because my lack of preparation had created a psychological gulf between expectation and reality; or perhaps because, at that moment, my mind was not yet strong enough to sustain the perseverance demanded by those final four kilometers.

But that is all right. I know I grew, and I have no regrets.

As ahua said at the end of his “Mount Kailash” video:

“Every moment of life is profoundly important and worth experiencing, including life’s suffering. So please, cherish every moment of your life.”

This trek around Mount Kailash was probably the finest annotation of those words.