Travel often begins long before the first flight takes off. Mine began with an invitation — one extended by Chinese Ambassador to Nepal Chen Song, a seasoned diplomat known for his active engagement, candid approach, and unwavering commitment to advancing China’s national interests while deepening China–Nepal ties.
I had the opportunity to travel to Chengdu for the fifth time enroute to Xizang. Over the years, he has earned the reputation of a true friend of Nepal, fostering connections that transcend protocol and formal diplomacy. This invitation itself was part of broader diplomatic efforts that the Ambassador has consistently championed: strengthening people-to-people exchanges, and creating opportunities for Nepali media professionals to better understand China’s rapid development. His approach is hands-on and proactive; one could say his diplomacy operates not only through official channels but also through real human engagement — a reason he remains one of the most visible and active ambassadors in Kathmandu’s diplomatic circle.
It was an early summer afternoon in June when seven journalists from Nepal, India, Japan, Thailand, and Switzerland assembled at a lavish five-star hotel in Chengdu, the vibrant capital of Sichuan Province. I had barely settled into the lobby when I unexpectedly met an old Sri Lankan friend — someone I first crossed paths with back in 2008 in Washington, D.C. The reunion set a warm tone for the journey ahead.
The rest of the day was spent soaking in the picturesque charm of Chengdu: shimmering skyscrapers, tree-shaded boulevards, and the gentle rhythm of a city celebrated for its culture, cuisine, and calmness.
The next morning brought a dramatically different scene. Heavy rain pounded Tianfu International Airport, delaying our Air China flight to Linzhi (Nyingchi) in the Xizang Autonomous Region. We remained stuck inside the aircraft as the storm raged outside. Yet the cabin crew handled the delay with grace, moving down the aisles with reassuring smiles, offering snacks and warm tea to keep passengers comfortable.
After nearly an hour, the engines hummed to life. The aircraft crept along the glistening runway before accelerating sharply. The sudden surge unsettled some — elderly passengers gripped their armrests while children clung to their parents — until the plane finally pierced through the thick clouds. Chengdu itself, even in the rain, radiated its characteristic warmth. For me, the city remains a place of personal memories: broad boulevards, delicious meals shared over long conversations, and a cultural rhythm that always draws me back.
Soon, the gloomy skies of Chengdu gave way to brilliant blue, and the vast mountain ranges of Xizang unfolded beneath us. Many peaks, once capped with snow, now stood bare — a sobering reminder of the growing impact of climate change on the region’s delicate ecosystem.
The aerial view felt like a silent documentary playing beneath us: deep valleys carved by ancient rivers, isolated cliffs, and high- mountain shadows stretching toward the horizon. It was a reminder of how vast and vulnerable this region is. The landing at Linzhi was smooth, and the airport — smaller, quieter, and surrounded by rising hills — immediately conveyed a sense of remoteness and tranquility.
Representatives from the Foreign Affairs Office of the Xizang Autonomous Region received us at the airport. Their warm reception hinted at a carefully planned journey ahead — one that would expose us not just to landscapes, but to the lives, livelihoods, and evolving realities of local communities.
From the airport, we drove to our hotel. While simpler than the five-star comfort of Chengdu, it possessed its own charm. Built against a backdrop of dense forests and misty hills, it felt like a place designed for reflection.
Stepping out into the cool air, I watched the mist roll over treetops like soft, drifting silk. The forests were alive with quiet melodies — rustling leaves, distant water currents, and occasional calls of unseen birds. It was impossible not to pause and take a deep breath. The place had an almost spiritual calmness.
As night fell and the mountains faded into silhouettes, I found myself reflecting on the purpose of the journey. Xizang is not just a region; it is a narrative — of landscapes, of culture, of transformation, and of the people whose lives are woven into its valleys and plains.
This trip promised to reveal those narratives more closely.
What lay ahead — visits to local communities, interactions with families uplifted through social welfare programs, and a firsthand look at development across Linzhi — held the promise of deeper understanding.
And so, with curiosity and anticipation, I prepared for the next morning, feeling that this journey through rain, runways, and reflections was only the beginning of a much larger story.
The following morning, after a quiet breakfast overlooking the mist-frosted hills, our delegation set out toward one of the nearby villages. The journey itself felt meditative — winding roads cutting through dense forests, mountains rising like colossal guardians on either side, or soft sunlight filtering through cedar branches.
Our hosts from the Foreign Affairs Office had arranged a visit to a local farmer’s home — a gesture that spoke less of protocol and more of authentic engagement. Such encounters often reveal what official data cannot: the everyday realities of people, their aspirations, and the transformations shaping their lives.
The farmer’s house stood modestly yet proudly on a gentle slope. Its sturdy walls and neatly kept surroundings hinted at stability, at a life that had gradually found its balance. As we walked in, the farmer and his family welcomed us warmly, their faces open and unreserved — a reminder that hospitality transcends geography.
Over local tea and snacks, the farmer spoke with the aid of an interpreter about his life with a calm confidence. He shared how his family had once lived in a remote village far from basic facilities. A decade ago, they struggled with uncertain harvests, limited income, and the harshness of rural isolation. Transportation was difficult, education for children limited, and opportunities scarce.
But things had changed. Today, he drives a truck for a logistics company, a job that provides stable income. His wife works as a supervisor in a local factory — a role she took on after receiving vocational training supported by social welfare programs. Their sole son studies in a local school on scholarship, a source of deep pride for both parents. "This is the life we once only imagined,” the farmer said, smiling as he glanced toward the small vegetable garden behind his home. “Now, everything feels possible.”
As he continued, it became clear how central social welfare schemes had been in reshaping his life. Assistance had helped him transition from subsistence farming to paid employment. His home had been constructed with partial financial support. Training and local economic initiatives had opened new paths.
Equally transformative was the expansion of the road network. What was once a remote settlement accessible only by footpaths was now connected to markets, schools, hospitals, and workplaces. Movement was easier, opportunities closer. “Ten years ago, none of this was here,” he said. “Now we can travel anywhere — to work, to the town, even to visit relatives — without worry. "Connectivity, often taken for granted in cities, had become the silent force powering local development.
As we continued our conversation, his reflections painted a broader picture of Linzhi. Poverty, once widespread, had been steadily pushed back. Local agriculture had improved with technical support. New industries — especially eco-tourism, husbandry, hospitality and forestry, and handicrafts — were creating alternative livelihoods. Modern housing, healthcare access, and education opportunities were becoming the norm rather than the exception.What struck me most was not the data or the scale of development, but the visible sense of dignity in his words — the belief that life had changed not suddenly, but steadily, one step at a time.
People spoke proudly about their improved quality of life — better housing, reliable water supply, easier transportation, and safer roads. Many credited local government initiatives, infrastructure development, and targeted poverty alleviation programs for these changes.In Linzhi, happiness was not loud or celebratory. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted — the happiness of people whose lives had improved through consistent effort and shared purpose.
As I walked through the town, watching locals go about their day against the backdrop of towering mountains and whispering forests, I felt a sense of calm admiration. Here was a region once defined by its extreme geography and isolation, now growing confidently into a future shaped by connectivity, opportunity, and resilience.
This journey, which began with rain-soaked runways and unexpected delays, had brought me into the living heart of Xizang — its landscapes, its people, and its evolving stories.