How a Tibetan workshop is reviving a rural economy and reimagining tradition

With half-frozen fingers, I Googled “Do vultures attack humans?” On my phone. I was alone on a grassy hilltop in the Gannan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture in central China, when birds as large as foxes and with beaks curved like meat hooks, appeared from nowhere. Although the region is not part of modern Tibet, Tibetan culture is still prevalent, and sky burial (in which bodies are left to be eaten by vultures) is still practiced. Fortunately, the birds are harmless to those still breathing, but, on this cool November afternoon in a sparsely populated corner of China, the encounter got my blood pumping.

Two hours ago, I left my room Norlha House To visit the highlands of Gannon in the small village of Georgy Ritoma. Once the village’s gold-roofed Ritoma Monastery and its herds of yaks disappeared into the distance, all I could see was undulating plains. For every hill I crossed, another, equally barren one, would emerge behind it. The nearest large city, Chengdu, with more than 20 million inhabitants, was 400 miles away. Most international travelers connect via Beijing or shanghai Before flying to Lanzhou, a city in northwestern China. However, I flew to a small airport in Xiahe County.

Georgy Ritoma isn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find a boutique selling $800 shirts and $2,000 bedspreads, but that’s exactly what I came to find. Norlha-an atelier where artisans are taken Khulu, Or yak down, which is sourced from herders around the Tibetan Plateau and made into velvety-soft fabrics and home accessories – was founded in 2007 by Tibetan-American entrepreneur DeAnn Yeshi and her mother Kim. The brand now sells goods in high-end boutiques such as Dover Street Market in Paris and La Garçon in New York City. The atelier is next to Norlha House, which is also owned by Yeshi.

When I met Yeshi for tea in his light-filled office, filled with the sound of whirring looms and wooden spinning wheels, he talked about the rapid modernization of rural China and the pressures drawing nomadic Tibetans to the cities. By creating jobs for the local community, Yeshi hopes Norlha can provide an alternative, allowing families to maintain their nomadic identity while earning a steady income.

Today the business trains and employs more than 100 craftsmen, offering a rare economic anchor in an area where job opportunities are scarce. “Keeping this culture alive is not just about preserving the past,” Yeshi said. “It is about building a future where tradition and modernity co-exist in a meaningful and sustainable way.”

The flagship store, on a paved road in Zorgi Ritoma amid the grassy layers of the mountains, opened in May 2023 in a wood-framed space above the atelier. I browsed a collection of felted vests, fashionable coats and silk shirts with mandarin collars inspired by traditional Tibetan jackets. There were cloud-soft baby blankets, yeti-shaped plush toys, and, on the mezzanine, a rack of burgundy robes and hats. While there are also Norlha outposts in Beijing and Lhasa, the capital of the Tibet Autonomous Region, the decision to open this location was deliberate. “By experiencing the landscape and culture of the region firsthand, customers really get to know the product,” Yeshi said.

A few hundred dollars lighter, but with a twist Khullu A scarf to keep me warm, that’s all I set out to do. While the Tibet Autonomous Region is about 700 miles west of Gannan, Tibetan culture remains prevalent in this southern Chinese province. The relative isolation of the region has played a role, but so has the resilience of its people. At Georgi Ritoma, I started my morning with hearty porridge made from tsamba, mixed with roasted barley flour, yak-butter tea, and had lunch with chilli-seasoned yak-meat. MomosAt Ritoma Monastery, I saw a young monk practicing cow dung chain, A long Tibetan brass trumpet. The entire valley echoed with the frightening sound of the musical instrument.

Another day, I drove 40 miles north to visit the 18th-century Labrang Monastery, one of the largest Tibetan Buddhist complexes outside Tibet. Despite the morning cold, hundreds of pilgrims were already doing the circumambulation blank, A two-mile prayer path around the monastery walls. The clothes of most of the devotees were covered with white dust, the result of the prostrations they performed after every few steps; Others passed prayer beads and recited Buddhist mantras.

With a population of about 1,500 monks, dozens of temples and a network of roads and streets, the monastery resembled a small town. Tony, who is from Gannon and one of the few English speakers on campus, guided me around the prayer room. The air was thick with the sweet smoke of Tibetan oil-burning lamps, and the golden Buddha looked down at the worshipers chanting in a deep, resonant voice. We passed golden pagodas, shady rooms filled with thousands of Buddhist prayer books, and a monk chasing a goat from his simple abode.

I asked Tony to explain the Buddhist philosophy practiced by the Yellow sect, to which he belongs. “There are two feelings within you, of the body and of the soul,” he replied after thinking for a while. “Most people take care of their body, but not their soul – the balance is disturbed.” He explained how the big city lifestyle driven by money and success often takes people away from inner peace instead of it. He said, “People are always chasing happiness, but do not know its true meaning.”

When I returned to Zorgi Ritoma, Tony’s words lingered. There, where the land stretches out endlessly and the sky seems impossibly close, the balance between body and spirit seemed less elusive. cow dung chain The bells are still ringing, and the vultures are still circling above. Now I realize that not as a harbinger of the past, but as a quiet witness to a culture that is holding its ground.

A version of this story was first published in the November 2025 issue of travel+vacation Under the title “Threads of Tibet.”,